Birthright (Residue Series #2) (13 page)

“I’m just a delivery guy. That’s all.”

“For what?” I persisted.

When he didn’t answer, I
began to sense a feeling
of frustration coming from him. We seemed to be at a standstill until stepping inside and closing the door
behind us
.
Keeping his voice low,
Jameson explained
.

“Information that we don’t want others to know. The Sevens have relocated
the
Vires here, which means their emissaries…their spies…are here, too. That requires everyone to be extra careful. We don’t want to feed information back to The Sevens…”

“Because it would…”

“Cost lives.”

The impact of
this
realization stunned me
, as
we stood in the darkness of the shop’s back hallway in silence.

“Does it…
are
you…” I couldn’t quite form the words, the
overwhelming
nervousness I felt at t
he idea of their meaning stopping
me.
Composing myself,
I finally finished. “It sounds dangerous for you.”

“Sounds like it
,
but no…”

“What happens if you get caught?” I demanded, my protective instinct taking over.

“Who would catch me?” he asked with an arrogant smirk.

I sighed
, challenging him.
“
The
Vires…
emissaries…”

His hands came around my waist in an effort to be charming.
While he
was incredibly seductive, sending a
spark of
teasing
emotion
through
out my body,
it didn’t work.

“You are delivering information they want, Jameson.” I looked away, stunned and irritated. “I can’t believe your family would allow you to-”

“I volunteered, Jocelyn.” In case I didn’t get his intended insinuation, he contended, “They couldn’t stop me if they tried.”

“No,” I agreed
,
and pride flitted across his face. “But they could protect you, go with you.” I was openly appalled
,
but he
only
seemed disgusted by the idea.

“I’m sure they would if they knew when I was going.”

“But you keep that from them
?”

He nodded.

“Why?” I demanded.

“This was my choice, Jocelyn. I’m not going to drag anyone else into it. And I don’t need baby sitters.” He released his arms, starting to turn from me
, but
I held on.

“So they don’t agree with it either?” I pressed.

“It’s not up to them,” he stated
,
matter-of-factly.

I blew air out my lips. “You are so…stubborn.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s not a compliment,” I informed him.

“It is to me.”

My instinct to protect was so overwhelming that my reaction was to groan loudly and push away, using my hands to press against his chest. It
felt
like
I was
pushing against a brick wall.

Jameson caught
me
and pulled me back
to him
, his
lips
finding
mine
. Then
his heady, enticing scent surrounded me. Faster than I would have believed, my irritation
subsided,
and our bodies leaned against each other, his heat warming me against the chilly night
air
.

“I’m sorry we don’t agree,” he said
,
his voice soft and sincere. I was sorry
too
, but didn’t say it. I was still irritated. He paused and
took a breath.
“You always smell like flowers.”

I sighed
, allowing
myself to enjoy his
firm
muscles
pressing
against me. “Wood chips and salt air…
that’s
you.”

“I was feeling tired
,
but this is helping,” he
remarked
, referring to our proximity and grinning mischievously.

I caught his gaze. “You too?” When his grin
became even wider,
I knew he
misunderstood. “No, I mean, you’re tired too?”

Although he seemed disappointed that I wasn’t playing
into
his seduction, he
acknowledged my question
and lifted one shoulder
, playfully shrugging
off my concern. “Probably just the long night.”

I
studied
him before insisting, “No, you look worn out. Go home. I can finish this
.”

He
taunted.
“And miss out?”

I frowned at his attempt to
interject
humor. “Jameson…” I warned.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he replied
,
flatly. “You could run across Vires…”

He was so resolute
,
I knew arguing with him would be pointless. Instead, I made the best suggestion I could
think of
. “Then let’s get it done.”

We worked for another two hours
,
arriving
at the back door of our last stop just after midnight. I was glad
I
told my cousins at lunch that I’d be on a healing errand with Jameson
,
or they’d have been out looking for me hours ago
. Actually, that didn’t seem
so bad
,
considering how Jameson was looking.

His skin was growing whiter and his forehead was coated with a fine sheen
.
The sight of him made me nervous. His breathing, which had deepened and begun to wheeze, didn’t comfort me, either.

As we moved to the door, he blinked once to clear his tired eyes and asked, “Whose place is this?”

“Mr. Thibodeaux’s.” I didn’t bother
to mention he’d just told me that five minutes ago.
“All right…
stop.”

His legs came to a wobbly halt and he gave me a quizzical look. Even when I placed my hand on his forearm
,
he didn’t seem to
know what I was doing.

“
Incantatio s
ana
,”
I said
,
firmly. “There, that should help.”

He gave me a sideways smile
meant to convey his thanks, which demonstrated how handsome he could be even when exhausted
.

Despite
my effort, I was still incredibly relieved that we would be on our way home in a few minutes. He
would be able to
fall into bed and wake up re-energized by morning. At least that was what I thought.

Mr. Thibodeaux’s shop was unlike the others. Being more of a will
-
call than a storefront
, it
was
repurposed
from a spare room in his home, a vast empty space with only a desk and a ledger at one end where Mr. Thibodeaux took order shipments to be fulfilled by Thibodeaux family warehouses around the world. With the exception of a small closet where delivered products were stored until their rightful owners could pick them up, it didn’t hold or display any merchandise.
For this reason
,
I wasn’t surprised to find it in order when we entered. There would have been very little cleanup after the first round of Vires visited. What did throw me was the fact that Mr. Thibodeaux appeared lucid and speaking – and his short,
plump
, elderly body wasn’t
cowering
in a corner like a frightened animal.

Actually, he was writing at his desk as we entered.

“Do you have any idea what hour it is?” he asked, more astounded than outraged.

“Midnight,” Jameson replied
,
plainly and without remorse, stepping inside.

Mr. Thibodeaux gawked at us
and mumbled
something about never forgetting to lock the door again,
before dipping
his head back to the ledger.

“He…doesn’t seem affected,” I said quietly to Jameson.

“We’re here. Might as well see if he knows anything more on what’s causing all this.”

While I disagreed with that decision, especially since Jameson didn’t seem to be improving after my attempt at healing him, he didn’t seem to be
persuadable
.
Jameson dropped into the guest chair in front of the desk where M
r. Thibodeaux surveyed
him.

“What’s wrong with you?”
Mr. Thibodeaux
demanded
in a less-than-friendly tone
.

“Nothing,” Jameson brushed it off.

“Hmm,” I
mumbled
,
openly
disagreeing as I took
a seat in the other guest chair
. Jameson shot me a look but I ignored it.

Mr. Thibodeaux didn’t look convinced either. He slammed his ledger shut
, giving
us his full attention.

“Vires,” said Jameson, his eyelids flickering as he forced his body to
remain alert. “Did they come back
here
…by here
…recently?”

“Yesterday,” Mr. Thibodeaux leaned back,
reflecting and
folding his hands across his belly. “Why?”

I
ntent on getting his own answers first, Jameson
deflected the question by asking
, “
N
ot today?
They didn’t come by today?
”

“No,
yesterday
.” Mr. Thibodeaux drew in a deep breath
, recalling
the memory,
and
a frown
angrily twisted
his face. “Probably figured they’d already done enough damage the first time
,
they didn’t need to return.”

Jameson
stared back, perplexed, blinking again to clear his sight.

“Son,” said Mr. Thibodeaux
,
suspiciously. “What’s this all about?”

His mouth opened
, inhaling sharply,
but
he
never got the chance to answer because Mr. Thibodeaux
unexpected
ly
stood up
.

“
T
hey
just arrived
.”

“Who?”
I asked, suddenly very leery.

“The Vires you speak of.”

Jameson and I caught on at the same time
,
both
of us
automatically
coming to our feet
.

From
our
angle, it seemed that Mr. Thibodeaux was peering o
ut the window to his courtyard so we craned our necks around to follow his gaze.

“We must have caught up with them,” Jameson said, his weary eyes already evaluating our surroundings for the next logical step to take.

“Then you don’t want them to kno
w it,” cautioned Mr. Thibodeaux, his eyes pinned on the door because it was just about to open.

“In here,” Mr. Thibodeaux urged, steering us toward the only other door.

“I’m not hiding,” Jameson and I said at exactly the same time.

Mr. Thibodeaux did a rapid assessment of our situation and convinced us the only way he
knew would work
. “Jameson, you’re in no condition for conflict. If the Vires want to start it, your girlfriend will be vulnerable.” That last remark was cutting
,
but I knew it was unintentional. Besides, there was no time to refute it. “Jocelyn, he’s sick. He needs you to look after him. Now…get in there. Both of you.”

There was little time to
appraise
our hideaway
,
but I did catch a glimpse of shelves stacked with canvas bags and what appeared to be boxes wrapped in brown paper
, tied with
hem
p string. The closet, I thought just before
the door closed
,
suctioning the air and
stealing the light,
leaving
us in
absolute blackness.