Chapter Four
C HAPTER F OUR
Self-grooming is an instinctive trait for many species, most often employed when trying to attract a mate.
—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs
Standing in her closet, Claire tapped her lip and contemplated her wardrobe. Lounging in her bathrobe and stuffing her face had been the perfect therapy yesterday—preceded, of course, by a cold shower to wash away the aberrant yearnings that had plagued her body long after Gideon March’s departure.
Krispy Kreme had been only the start. Her hunger couldn’t be sated. It was an insistent pull on her stomach, demanding satisfaction. Almost as demanding as the sudden, inexplicable ache of her body for a certain green-eyed man.
After Krispy Kreme, she decided to stay inside. For some reason the smells and sounds of the city overwhelmed her, made her head spin. The early morning streetlights shone brighter, the horns and blares of rush hour traffic rang raucously in her sensitive ears.
She’d ordered takeout three times: Ding Lung’s, Domino’s, and KFC. She almost ordered a fourth time from her favorite Italian place, Angelo’s, but they always screwed up the order. The elderly woman who answered the phone never got it right. Yet Claire never complained—just paid for her food and ate whatever she found inside the tin containers like a good girl. Yesterday would have been different. Things would have gotten ugly with the deliveryman if she got anything other than her correct order.
Sadly, reality nosed its ugly head through the take-out debris and her soap opera marathon. The gray light of Tuesday morning dawned outside her window, reminding her that duty called.
An array of khaki, brown, and white garments filled her closet, a safari adventurer’s dream, but certainly not the most inspiring of wardrobes. Her hands slid hangers down the bar one after another, searching for something more inspiring, something with a bit of color, a bit of zing. Everything she owned was dull, dull, dull. Dissatisfaction knotted her stomach. How could she stand out when she blended in with everything?
Her hand stilled on a hanger and she felt a frown pull at her mouth.
Stand out?
Since when did she want to stand out? Unable to answer that question, she brushed aside her unease and continued searching for something provocative and eye-catching even as her nose twitched at the offending odor of the litter box in the next room. She had dumped it several times yesterday, but the smell still bothered her.
Considering the contents of her closet, she had a real challenge on her hands. She stumbled upon a black, sleeveless, V-neck knit top at the very back of her closet. The tag still dangled from the collar. Naturally. She never wore anything that revealed so much as a hint of cleavage. Must have been a gift. She pulled it over her head and moved to the mirror. Her lips curved in a smile. It was snug, clearly defining the shape of her breasts and the shadowed valley between.
Claire smoothed a hand over her torso and twisted to assess her profile. “Much better.”
She might have to wear it with khaki slacks, but at least she wouldn’t blend into the background. A fact that was suddenly very important to her.
That left her hair. She stared at the neat, shoulder-length bob. Hopeless. It hung limply around her face even after a full night’s sleep. She ruffled it with both hands only to growl with frustration as it drifted back into place, every hair falling into order. Limp and flat. Still hopeless. Well, that’s why God created hairdressers. After work she would find one capable of performing miracles.
Grabbing a hair band, she pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail and nodded. Not bad. With her startling eyes, the effect was striking.
Clasping her silver bracelet around her wrist, she finished dressing. She had to get moving.
Fully dressed and even wearing makeup, Claire emerged from her apartment. With a definite bounce to her step, she headed for her Honda, a strange sense of anticipation humming inside her.
The sky was tinged a predawn purple, the air already thick with typical Houston humidity. Her nostrils quivered at the noxious aroma of smog. As she unlocked the car door she noticed a gently purring Jeep parked next to her sedan. No one sat inside. Shrugging, she turned back to her car.
“Going to work today?”
She gasped, her ears instantly recognizing that velvet voice. Her body recognized it as well, springing to burning awareness, the skin of her arms and neck prickling. Her purse and book bag fell to the pavement and she fisted her hands at her sides as if she could suppress the inappropriate reaction.
Gideon bent and picked up both bags, his eyes watchful as he straightened and handed them to her. His scent struck her full blast. Wood and man and the faint aroma of soap and mint toothpaste.
“You’re stalking me,” she accused, her voice unnaturally high.
Taking care to avoid touching him lest any of yesterday’s longing resurface, she grabbed her bags from his hands and hugged them tightly to her chest.
“You should consider taking a leave of absence until this is all straightened out. I had hoped you reached that conclusion when you stayed home yesterday.”
“How do you know I stayed home yesterday?” she demanded, then swiped a hand through the thick air. “Never mind. Don’t say it.” She glared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing on the thrumming pulse at the side of his throat. The blood flowed strong and steady within the artery. How she knew baffled her, but she did. She could see the beating artery as clearly as his hard-lined face before her. “You’ve been sitting out here casing my apartment since yesterday, haven’t you?”
“?’Course not. When you came back from your doughnut run I figured you weren’t going to work and left.” He slid one hand into his front jean pocket and rocked on his heels, the sound of gravel crunching beneath the soles of his shoes scratching the air.
She couldn’t help but notice that the hand in his pocket pulled his jeans tighter against a certain part of his anatomy. Desire shot through her, as shocking as yesterday in its unfamiliarity, rushing over her and heating the skin of her face and neck to an unbearable degree. Why did her eyes automatically have to look there?
Swallowing, she forced her gaze to his face. “This is harassment.” She jabbed the air in front of her with her index finger. “Leave me alone.”
God, she needed a latte. Fast. The display of goodies at her local coffeehouse flashed in her mind. And a brownie. A big, fat chocolate brownie. Her stomach growled in agreement.
“Still in denial?” He shook his head. “You’re only delaying—”
“Look,” she broke in. “I didn’t want to do this, but if you don’t leave me alone—” She paused, inhaling deeply through her nostrils, the smell of the Dumpster at the far end of the parking lot assaulting her senses. “I’m gonna call the cops.”
She waited for his reaction, fully expecting to see him beat a hasty retreat.
Any minute now.
“I’ll call the cops,” she repeated her threat, using a louder voice this time.
“You could do that.” He shrugged one shoulder. “But the police force is full of hunters. Call them and you’re as good as dead. They wouldn’t waste their time trying to save one infected schoolteacher.”
She gaped. Was there no end to his paranoid fantasies? She was going to have to decide how to best deal with Gideon March. He wasn’t a student misbehaving in the back of the room that she could pretend not to notice. Staring into his intense gaze, she knew he wasn’t going to go away.
“You’re out of your mind,” she muttered, rubbing her wrist beneath her silver bracelet where it had started to itch.
He propped his elbow on the roof of her car and ruffled his longish hair as if battling frustration. “You keep saying that.” He leaned close. Too close. It had been a long time since she had stood this close to a man. Her senses reeled, the musk of him filling her nostrils, making her heart thump against her chest, against breasts that were suddenly heavy and achy.
“I guess it’s easier to pretend I’m crazy,” he murmured. His eyes gleamed in the dawn air, flitting over her face, as if he was committing her features to memory. “What happens when you realize I’m telling the truth?”
The sound of his voice rolled over her like silk sliding against her bare skin. Claire could hardly make sense of his words, could only stare at his well-carved lips as they moved, imagining them dragging across her flesh. Stepping back, she bumped into her car, stopping her from total retreat. “You’re disturbed. Truly. You need help.”
His eyes glinted angrily. Even in the dim light, she could count those flecks of gold in his pale green gaze. “Maybe a little,” he allowed. “Guess I have to be for trying to help a stubborn fool who doesn’t want my help.”
She ignored his dig and strove for a mild tone, trying not to annoy him further. “I’m going now.” She had to step forward to open her car door. Her shoulder grazed his chest and her breath escaped in a hiss. She tossed her bags onto the passenger seat, her movements slow, measured, as if she didn’t want to startle the strange animal beside her. “Good-bye.” She forced a ring of finality into the farewell.
“Think about what I told you. Time off would be smart. You need to—”
She closed her car door, signaling her disinterest in his words. As discreetly as possible, she pressed the lock button.
He smiled grimly and leaned back against his Jeep, arms crossed over his chest like a man completely relaxed and content with himself and all his paranoid delusions.
Rubbing her stinging wrist, she eyed the lean length of him with admiring disgust. The guy could be a Calvin Klein model. What a waste. Shaking her head, she put both hands on the steering wheel and backed out. Facing forward again, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror, the image startling. The sleek image of herself with the severe ponytail and pewter gaze filled her with unease.
At the first stoplight, she flipped on her overhead light to glare in consternation at her stinging wrist. The skin beneath the silver bracelet was an angry red, almost like it had been burned. She undid the clasp and tossed the bracelet into the cup holder. The light turned green. Stepping on the accelerator, she proceeded, rubbing the inflamed skin absently as she concentrated on putting Gideon March out of her mind.
Gideon groaned when he spotted the familiar Tahoe in his driveway. Its shiny chrome finish glinted in the afternoon sun. He parked alongside the curb in front of his house to make sure he wouldn’t block the vehicle from departing.
“It’s my damned driveway,” he muttered, shifting into park with an angry jerk and killing the engine. “Why doesn’t he park in the street?”
He wasn’t in the mood for this particular visitor. Especially since it called for pretending that everything was normal, business as usual, that his thoughts weren’t tangled up in her .
Easier said than done. Claire Morgan was one stubborn, aggravating woman. He had said everything he could to convince her, done everything he could. Well, almost everything. Gideon grimaced. He hoped it didn’t come to that. He’d spare her that if he could. But how could he help her if she wouldn’t cooperate? She either jumped onboard to save her ass or it was over.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he reminded himself that it shouldn’t matter, that she shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t be so complicated. He shouldn’t think about his attraction to her, shouldn’t think about stripping her naked and settling his body over hers.
The blare of the television greeted him as he stepped onto his porch. Someone had made himself right at home. Gideon unlocked the door and strolled into his living room, eyeing the man relaxing in his overstuffed La-Z-Boy, beer in one hand, remote control in the other.
His voice carried over the din of the television. “It’s a comfort to know the local police break in to people’s homes these days.”
“Not everyone’s home. Just yours,” Cooper corrected, his eyes never leaving the television.
“What brings you here?” Gideon noted the bag of Cheetos in Cooper’s lap—the bag taken from the top of his refrigerator. “Besides my food and television.”
“Can you believe this guy?” Cooper pointed a Cheeto at the screen, where a young man wearing pants that rode dangerously low stormed off the Jerry Springer set. “He just got the DNA test proving the kid is his, and he still refuses to believe it.”
Denial was a sore subject right now. It reminded Gideon of a particular woman and her own penchant for denying the truth. And she was the last thing he should be thinking about around this man. Cooper McPherson was no fool. He hadn’t risen to board director of the Greater Houston Area division of NODEAL by being dense. Even if he did like watching Jerry Springer reruns, the man was sharp, suspicious by nature, and one hell of an agent. And he knew Gideon. Damned well. Well enough to know when something was bothering him, but not—Gideon hoped—to know when he lied. Because in the case of Claire Morgan, he was going to have to lie through his teeth.
Gideon eased down on the couch and tossed his keys on the coffee table, uncomfortable and doing his best to hide it. Until now, Gideon had never kept anything from Cooper. They had no secrets. Never had. Cooper was like a big brother. Always around to bully and kick him in the ass when he needed it. Sometimes even when he didn’t.
“How can you watch this crap?” Gideon grunted as he yanked a pillow from behind his back to lounge more comfortably. He had to rely on the image of relaxation since his gut was knotted with tension.
“Ah, it’s not crap. It’s life, my friend.” For all of Cooper’s jovial air, his eyes were hard and shrewd as they turned on Gideon. “You can learn a lot from watching these shows. They show humanity at its worst. See that fella there ignoring his responsibility?” He waved a hand in the direction of the television. “That’s too often the case. Men just don’t come through and fulfill their obligations.”
Funny, Cooper wasn’t looking at the screen as he said this. He looked straight at Gideon. Clearly, he wasn’t talking about society. Gideon had to force himself not to fidget. Slow, even breaths.
A long moment passed. They stared at one another. Cooper finally cut to the point of his visit. “Where you been? I haven’t heard from you since Friday night’s call.”
“Busy.”
“Yeah? Doing what? ’Cause it sure as hell isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing. I called all weekend. I had some tips on a new location I needed you to check out. Where’ve ya been?”
Gideon averted his eyes from Cooper’s piercing gaze. Damn. He shouldn’t have looked away.
Gideon covered the slip by snagging the remote and clicking on the channel guide. “Just busy.”
Cooper shook his head from side to side. “You wanted this, remember? I warned you. About the demands, always being on call, always available. But you wanted in—”
“Hell, I’ve been at it for almost fifteen years. I’m no rookie,” he snapped. No. Not a rookie. Maybe just burned out? What other explanation could there be for why he wanted to protect Claire Morgan when it was his job to destroy her? He shook off the thought and continued, “I had some deliveries for my grandmother. Not to mention a few orders to finish up,” he lied smoothly, nodding toward the door leading to the garage where he did his carpentry work.
Cooper snorted and tossed a handful of Cheetos in his mouth, his jaw flexing as he chewed. “What? Slaying lycans doesn’t pay the bills?”
“I need something legit to show the IRS.” Thinking the interrogation over, Gideon clicked the channel to ESPN.
“Saw the Dodge parked out back,” Cooper commented mildly, referring to the old pickup Gideon used to haul furniture. “I didn’t think you could cart armoires, chairs, and the like in the back of that Jeep. Guess you weren’t running deliveries today, huh?”
Gideon smiled easily despite being caught in his own lie. A mistake he wouldn’t make again. He might owe Cooper a lot, even his life, but that didn’t include a play by play of his every move.
“Fine,” Cooper grunted. “Keep your secrets. Just hope you’re not getting involved with some woman. You know this lifestyle isn’t conducive to that sort of thing. Told you when you got in you could never lead a normal life. No wife. No kids.” He leaned forward in the La-Z-Boy as if shortening the distance between them could better convey his next words. He stabbed the palm of his hand several times with his finger. “NODEAL is your life.”
Gideon understood perfectly. He always had. “I know.” He smiled without humor. “Love ’em and leave ’em. I learned the code from you. You drilled it into me. How could I forget?”
“That’s right.” Cooper nodded, still looking unconvinced as he settled back in the chair. “Let’s talk shop. The body you called in the other night has been identified as one Leonardo Becker. Age seventeen. Born in Houston and birth certificate looks legit. Of course, no record of him in the files,” he said.
NODEAL’s confidential database was used by agents throughout the world for the cataloging of all known lycans, living and deceased. It was no surprise to Gideon that the kid wasn’t documented. Gideon already knew he was newly infected.
Leonardo Becker. Lenny, Gideon silently mused, experiencing a strange flickering of sorrow for the kid whose last thoughts had been not for himself but his teacher. “He’s probably too new to have made it into the database,” Gideon murmured.
“What happened Friday? Anything unusual?” Cooper eyed him speculatively. “I sent Foster to run detail and he said everything looked clean. Aside from it being such a young kid. Easy kill?”
“Yeah,” Gideon muttered. “No sweat.”
Nodding, Cooper asked, “Any leads?”
He hesitated before sealing his act of deception with an indisputable lie. “No.” There. He’d done it. Without even a stutter. No going back now. “He operated alone.”
“What?” Cooper’s brows dipped into a frown. “No buddies?”
Lycans operated in packs—at least two or more. Never, or rarely, individually. That’s what made hunting them so dangerous and why inexperienced agents were assigned to a team until deemed fit to hunt alone. Gideon had completed his team training quickly. In fact, he held the record for quickest promotion to IAS—individual agent status. But then, he had something other trainees didn’t. A grudge.
“That’s right. Solo.”
“Unusual.”
“I know,” Gideon retorted. He wasn’t some grunt, new to the ranks. He didn’t need Cooper questioning his every answer. Even if they were lies.
Cooper rubbed his bristly chin. “What’s your take on it?” he quizzed in his best mentor voice.
“He could have been accidentally infected,” Gideon offered, one possibility that couldn’t be overlooked, even if unlikely. Lycans didn’t run around accidentally infecting people. They fed. And when they fed, they gorged until their victims were dead. Recruitment into their packs was very deliberate, and they didn’t abandon their inductees.
“Or…” Gideon’s voice hung in the air for a long moment.
“Or?” Cooper prodded.
“Or there’s a new player in town,” Gideon finished. “One who doesn’t follow pack tradition.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
The two men exchanged grim looks. That was NODEAL’s worst nightmare. A lycan that infected indiscriminately could be a plague on the city. Or the world. Both men turned and stared unseeing at the television, each absorbing the implication of such a possibility.
Sighing, Cooper stood and brushed orange Cheeto dust from his hands. “I expect you to be available this weekend and taking calls.”
Gideon nodded, rolling his eyes. Who needed a wife when you had a NODEAL director breathing down your neck?
For a split second, the by-the-book agent in him considered coming clean and telling Cooper about the teacher, but he quickly squashed that idea. Hell, Cooper would probably put him on suspension. Then he’d track Claire down and destroy her himself. Gideon’s personal history with Cooper wouldn’t get in the way. Neither would sentimentality. Nor Gideon’s vague instinct that Claire Morgan was worth saving. Cooper was hard as nails. From that first meeting in his parents’ hallway, his mother’s corpse at their feet, that much had been clear. And only became clearer in the following years as Cooper took him under his wing and taught him the trade. Gideon had done his best to model himself after Cooper. A hard man driven by one purpose: to hunt and destroy lycans.
Apparently, Gideon March wasn’t as tough as he thought.
He owed Cooper his life—his and his sister’s. No argument there. He also owed him the truth about Claire.
Unfortunately, it was the one thing he couldn’t give him. Not yet.
“You look… different.”
Claire couldn’t help smiling at Maggie’s pause as they exited the school together. By the time their conference period rolled around, they desperately needed a little adult R & R. The bagel shop around the corner provided the perfect escape.
Only eleven in the morning and heat already cloaked the city. The smell of baked asphalt, thick and pungent, clogged Claire’s pores.
“Different good or different bad?”
“Oh, good! Different good,” Maggie assured, a hint of devilry in her smile. “I never knew you had breasts.”
Claire chuckled, allowing the tension to ebb from her shoulders. The run-in with Gideon had left her in a foul mood. As a result she lacked her usual patience and had decided to assign book work for her afternoon classes in order to spare them. To top it off, Jill Tanners, Lenny’s counselor, was too busy to see her. Claire knew when she was being avoided, but she had no intention of letting Tanners off the hook. It was her job to follow up on Lenny, and Claire intended to pester her until she did.
Her laughter died an abrupt death in her throat the instant she saw him . The tension returned, stiffening every muscle as her feet dragged to a stop.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she muttered under her breath, her heart lurching wildly against her chest.
Maggie pulled up beside her. Claire felt her curious stare scanning the side of her face.
“What is it?” she asked.
Claire couldn’t speak. Her attention focused on the maroon CJ-7 Jeep parked in the principal’s spot—on the man inside. The Jeep was a far cry from Principal Henderson’s Volvo. As was the stone-faced, hard-bodied man behind the wheel.
In the midmorning sunlight, Gideon March sat there like he had every right to park in the reserved space. Big as day and hardly inconspicuous in a vehicle that lacked doors and a roof. Not that his six-feet-plus frame was easy to conceal. A long, lean, denim-clad leg protruded from the Jeep, his Red Wing boot propped on the door frame as he watched her.
What if he got out of the Jeep?
What if he started spouting that ridiculous werewolf nonsense again?
What if—
“Who is that ?” Maggie whispered in hushed, reverent tones.
Claire shook her head dumbly, her stare never wavering from him. A pair of sunglasses obscured his eyes, but she could feel them burning into her.
“Do you know him?” Maggie pressed.
Claire tore her gaze free, focusing on her car and the prospect of escape. Refuge.
“No.” Claire resumed walking, forcing herself not to panic and run.
“Well, honey, I think he knows you. Or the way he’s looking, he wants to.”
Claire’s gaze skittered back to him. Sunlight glinted off his dark blond hair. The nerves along her spine tingled. And not entirely in fear.
“We don’t know each other,” she insisted, her voice firm.
“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maggie smirked at her from over the roof of the car as Claire fumbled for the right key. “Forget about Cyril. You got a hunka hunka burning man over there ogling you.”
Claire slid inside the sanctuary of her car, feeling slightly safer now that she could no longer see him or feel his intense gaze. Once Maggie shut her door, Claire hit the lock button. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from the back of her throat. That wouldn’t stop him. Not if he wanted to get to her. He had no problem getting into her apartment, after all.
“Now it makes sense.” Maggie gave a small, knowing laugh.
Claire started the car and backed out, trying not to notice how her hands shook on the steering wheel. “What does?”
A car horn blared and she slammed on the brakes. Both women lurched against their seat belts.
“Claire!” Maggie shouted, hands slapping the dashboard.
Heart hammering, Claire’s gaze flew to the rearview mirror at the car she had almost hit. She waved apologetically at the woman glaring at her through the windshield.
“Jesus,” Maggie muttered as the other car drove off in an angry zip. “Now it really makes sense.”
Once Claire’s heart had resumed a steady beat and they had escaped the parking lot, she was calm enough to ask, “What makes sense?”
“The clothes, the contacts, the makeup, your asking for the name of my hairdresser.” She counted off on her fingers. “Oh, and the two-car collision we nearly had because you’ve got your head up your ass.”
Claire sniffed, not appreciating Maggie’s description. “What are you talking about?”
Maggie nodded thoughtfully, looking so world-wise as she flipped down the visor and checked her heavily applied makeup. “You’re gettin’ some .”
Claire could only shoot a puzzled sideways glance at her friend, expecting her to finish the rest of her sentence.
Getting some of what?
Maggie must have sensed her confusion. “God, you’re dense. You know.” She slapped Claire’s arm good-naturedly. “Some,” she emphasized in heavy, exaggerated tones, waving her hands widely in front of her.
Understanding dawned, and Claire choked, “I am not!”
She hadn’t gotten “some” in years. Eight years, actually. Not since Brian—the guy she had thought was her one —dumped her for a twenty-one-year-old waitress, who, according to him, made him feel like a real man .
“Well, then.” Maggie fluttered her hand as if it were a small distinction. “You’re planning on getting some.”
Claire shook her head, at a loss for words. It occurred to her that Maggie was exactly the type of girl her mother had kept her from hanging out with in school.
“Hey, I’m not judging. I’m a firm believer in sex. Just ask any of my ex-husbands. Abstinence is unnatural.”
Face hot, Claire argued, “Maggie, I’m not—”
“And if that fine specimen back there in the Jeep is a candidate, I say go for it.”
Claire was not planning on getting anything with anyone . Especially not with that lunatic.
But as she pulled up in front of the bagel shop, she couldn’t help wondering.
And that was totally unlike her. She simply didn’t wonder about those things. Never had.
And maybe the more important question was—Why now?