Chapter 7
SEAN
Sean couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He exchanged a quick goodbye with Lukas, grabbed the jacket and helmet he’d loaned to Kiera, then took off before she and Elli could return to the living room.
This, Sean figured, was a good strategy. All throughout that torturous ride with Kiera’s sweet body wrapped tightly around him, he’d had to fight the urge to pull over on the side of the road and kiss the infuriating woman.
Once they were off his bike—and he was able to see her face again, and that body, not to mention when she’d removed his helmet and shook out all that glorious hair—the urge had only gotten worse.
A little separation was just the ticket to calm his shit down, especially since she was still so clearly pissed.
And calm was good. Now was not the time for distractions.
Sean drove straight from Lukas’s apartment to Caspian Street, parked, then stood across the street from the bodega, focusing on its glass front door. Or more accurately, on who might be on its other side.
Right now, he could make out two figures at the counter, paying for their purchases. A few seconds later, the door opened, and a man and woman walked out. They didn’t look his way.
No surprise really. Sean was standing directly in front of one of the oak trees the city had planted decades ago to landscape the street and bring a little beauty to the blighted strip of concrete. It was perfect for Sean’s purposes.
He was a dryad, a tree nymph. Not only was he most comfortable in the woods, but he also knew how to use the trees for cover. In the forest, it wasn’t hard to disappear into the branches and foliage, but he could also camouflage himself simply by standing in front of a tree.
He wasn’t invisible, but you’d have to look hard to see him, and humans rarely looked hard enough at anything.
Maybe the owners of the bodega counted on the same thing. The store could be an inconspicuous front for all sorts of criminal activities.
Twenty feet to his left, the shattered glass from Kiera’s car window still littered the sidewalk.
His gaze slid back to the bodega. For a while, he saw nothing, then the cashier emerged from behind the counter. It was a woman. Dark-haired. Slightly round.
She gesticulated wildly to someone Sean couldn’t see, which was odd because no one else—besides that couple—had entered the store during the twenty minutes he’d been standing outside.
There would be a back door, however…
Sean sucked in a breath when the person the woman was talking to came into view. It wasn’t the guy from this morning, like Sean had been halfway expecting. It was Rogue, his teammate and Elli Rogan’s brother.
Even from a distance, Sean could tell Rogue was fidgety as hell. He kept swiveling his head, looking this way and that.
Acting purely on impulse, Sean stepped away from the tree and walked straight for the bodega.
In seconds, he was across the street. He opened the door, and both Rogue and the dark-haired matron turned toward him.
She looked annoyed. Rogue looked like he’d just seen a ghost.
Not good.
“Yo!” Sean greeted him, pretending to be happily surprised.
Rogue took a step back and narrowed his eyes. “Hey, Murph.”
“What the hell are you doing in this part of town?” Sean asked cheerily. There was still a chance this was merely a bizarre coincidence.
True, Rogue had found himself with some money troubles recently—that’s what had landed Elli in her own scary shit—but those troubles were supposed to be behind him now.
And even if they weren’t, Kiera and Elli were relatively new friends, so how likely was it that their brothers’ troubles would be connected?
“Could ask you the same thing,” Rogue said. “This isn’t exactly your neck of the woods.”
Sean smiled at the tree pun, whether it was intended or not.
“I was…out for a run,” he replied, recalling the path that ran along the bluff overlooking the neighborhood. “Up at Steele’s Park.”
The lie came so quickly, Sean didn’t think Rogue noticed the small break in his cadence, especially since he was dressed credibly in a T-shirt, running pants and shoes.
“So, I—” Sean gestured at the refrigerator section of the bodega. “Thought I’d grab an energy drink on my way to the team meeting.”
“Right.” Rogue reached behind him, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a neon green can. “Same.”
“Yeah,” Sean said. “Get me one of those, too.”
Rogue took out a second can, then brought them both to the checkout counter.
The woman’s expression said she was eager to have their transaction completed and to get both of them out of her store.
“My treat,” Sean said, raising his debit card and pointing it at Rogue.
Rogue’s mouth got tight, but he managed a curt, “Thanks.”
“No problem, buddy.” Sean slid his card into the reader, made eye contact with the woman, and said, “You can toss the receipt.”
To Rogue, Sean said, “I tilted into the neighborhood. I assume you drove? Want some company on your way to the meeting?”
“Got some errands to run first,” Rogue said. “Don’t want to hold you up.”
“Gotcha,” Sean said, disappointed though not surprised. Fortunately, he had another idea for gathering intel. “See you in a few.”
“Yeah.” Rogue glanced at the cashier, then back to Sean. “See you later.”
Sean tilted out, but he didn’t go far. He popped back into the scene just inside the store’s back door and behind a pallet of stacked boxes ready to be unpacked. He was no more than twenty feet from the counter but completely out of sight.
“Damn fae,” the woman muttered in a vaguely Italian accent. “Is he really gone?”
“He’s gone,” Rogue said. “Murph hates to be late for anything. Now…you need to remind Junior that we did our part. It’s time for him to do his.”
Junior? Sean thought. And who the hell is “we?”
“Did you not hear me before?” the woman asked. “I don’t need to do anything. I’m not involved. You want to remind Junior of his responsibilities? You tell him yourself.”
“I would,” Rogue insinuated, “if he was here. Or if his man had shown like he was supposed to.”
Sean frowned at the stack of boxes he was hiding behind, surprised by Rogue’s tone. Evan Rogan was usually super chill; the only menace he ever displayed was on the ice.
“I don’t keep anyone’s social calendar but my own,” the woman replied snidely.
A warm pressure slid across Sean’s shins, and he looked down.
Damn. A ginger cat had discovered him, and it was purring louder than an outboard motor.
So much for his cover. Sean couldn’t risk being discovered. He scowled at the cat, then tilted out.