Deadlocked (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 3) (2 page)

I shrugged and shook my head. “Just some old guy; like
really old. He was bald and wrinkled, and dressed in a fancy black suit. Kind
of looked like an undertaker.”

Tomas laughed out loud. I looked at him with a frown.
Salvador turned to look at him as well and the smile dropped from his face.
Suddenly Salvador rose from his seat and strode across the room to the door. I
fell back in surprise, jumping out of his way.

“We must go,” he said.

Tomas scrambled past him and opened the door. Salvador
paused in the doorway and looked back at Isaac. “We must prepare for the
arrival of the Mariposa and all that will entail.”

Isaac gave a brief nod and Salvador disappeared out the
door. I really didn’t think that I wanted to know what a visit from the
Mariposa, whatever the hell that was, entailed.

After jogging back home from the gym and taking a long, hot
shower, I plunked myself down in front of Bryce’s computer and gave the mouse a
little jiggle. The screen popped on, the now familiar robot jumping to his
feet to yawn and stretch comically. He picked up a sign that read “Hold yer
drawers, Beeyatch” and proceeded to roll his eyes and pretend to whistle. I laughed.
These little screensavers were getting more inventive every day.

Bryce was...well, Bryce was a ghost who happened to live in my
computer. A computer hacker and online security expert in life, in death he
had chosen to hang around, somehow discovering a way to inhabit the World Wide
Web via my old POS computer. A POS, piece of shit, it was no more. Thanks to
Bryce and his offshore - probably illegally earned - funds, my computer had
been upgraded beyond recognition. I wasn’t going to complain though, since it
meant I had access to more of the internet than probably Homeland Security did.

While it was cool to have access to a world of information
at my fingertips, it wasn’t always readily available. Bryce had taken to his
new unfettered existence and was known to roam the far reaches of the web,
especially its deep, dark side. He was also a terrible voyeur and I’m sure
there were women around the globe that kept their laptops open in their
bedrooms that would slam them shut in horror if only they knew what could
be done with a webcam.

While I waited for Bryce to make an appearance, I looked at
my cellphone and cringed. I had five new voice messages. I didn’t need to
listen to them to know who they were from. Cian Nash, the most aggravating man
I had ever met and a royal pain in the ass. He was also the sexiest man I had
ever laid my eyes on and I had lusted after him from the moment we first met. I
had stumbled across a dead body (it was Bryce’s, long story) and he was the
homicide detective assigned to the case. Although I didn’t know it at the
time, he was also a werewolf and the liaison between the police force and the
Cimmerian. Since that day, our lives have become intertwined, something neither of us
necessarily considers a good thing. After dancing around a mutual
attraction, we had finally ‘done the deed’. To say it was mind-blowing would
be an understatement. Unfortunately, it also ended up having an unfortunate
side effect and I now found myself marked as Nash’s mate - and we’re not just
talking about a hickey, the mate mark was permanent.

Call me old fashioned, but before I become permanently tied
to a man metaphysically, I’d like to actually get to know him. Maybe even go
on a date or twenty. Don’t get me wrong, Nash could be incredibly sweet and
caring. Unfortunately, the rest of the time he was an arrogant, pushy,
stubborn, alpha male that made me want to scream in frustration.

For his part, I’m pretty sure Nash saw me as a meddling nuisance
who was completely incapable of taking care of herself, so you can see why it came
as a surprise to find out he had marked me as his mate. I had a sneaking
suspicion that he was surprised about it too. His wolf always did like me
better.

The mark had been made right before everything went down
with Navarre and we had yet to have a chance to sit down and talk about the
situation, mainly because I had been avoiding him like the plague since my
discharge from the hospital. So far, I think he had been giving me some space,
calling rather than coming in person, but I doubted if that would last much
longer.

With a sigh, I called up my voicemail on my phone. No point
on delaying it any longer. I figured I had better hear what he had to say.

“
Harry, it’s me Cian. I…I just phoned to
see if you were okay. You left in kind of a hurry there from the hospital.
Can you just call me or text me or something so that I know you’re home safely?
”

“
Okay. Christina told me that Isaac drove
you home. I’m glad you’re safe. Call me, okay? We really should talk
.”

“
Harry, will you pick up the damn phone?
Avoiding the issue isn’t going to change anything. Just call me and we’ll talk
about it
.”

“
Goddammit Harry, pick up the phone!
”

Unintelligible growling. “
Harry, I’m
coming over
.”

The last bit was followed by more unintelligible growling,
but I thought I caught the words ‘spank’ and ‘your ass’ in there somewhere.
Wait, what? Oh shit! I fumbled for the phone and hit a key. The message was
sent forty-five minutes ago which meant he could arrive at any minute. I needed
to get out of there and somewhere with witnesses. My question for Bryce would
have to wait. I hurried to the door and peeked outside. The coast was clear
so I hustled out and down the stairs to my shop.

I own a flower shop called Contain Yourself. It occupies about
one third of the main floor of the building. The other part is going to be a
coffee shop, once all the renovations are completed. Tess and I live on the
upper two floors of the building, along with Isaac who came to live with us after
I inadvertently bound him to me as my vampire servant (another long story).

I try to put a couple of hours in the shop every day, but for the most part I
feel like I’ve become more of a figurehead, seeing as how Mrs. Potts, my former
employer turned employee, still does ninety-five percent of the work. What I
didn’t realize at the time was Mrs. P was Fae, a brownie,
and the old refurbished firehall was in her care. She didn’t really need to
sell the business to retire. Brownies don’t retire. I was beginning to
suspect it had all been a lure to get me to come live in the building. Until
Tess and I had moved in with our former-friend, Holly (you guessed it, another
long story), the building had been vacant except for the flower shop. An
unused building would be anathema to a brownie. Mrs. P was much happier now
that it was soon to be fully occupied. She was even spearheading my coffee
shop idea, helping it over the hurdles to get it up and running and bringing in
her niece, Tiffy, as an apprentice of sorts to help out.

Speaking of Tiffy, surprisingly, she was at the counter,
watching the shop by herself when I entered the store. Tiffy was also a
brownie and this was her first experience ever coming out from Underhill. She
had been extremely skittish the first few days after her arrival and still had
hardly said more than three words to me.

“G-g-good afternoon, Harry,” Tiffy said, blinking nervously.

“Hi Tiffy. How are things?” I walked towards her casually,
trying not to spook her.

“G-g-good. Aunt Bea is n-n-next d-door.” She smiled and
gave a little nod as if proud of herself for completing her sentence.

“Aunt Bea? Oh, you mean Mrs. Potts?” I smiled at her. “You
know, I don’t think I ever knew your aunt’s name.” Tiffy giggled, putting a
hand to her mouth. I smiled at her again and then put a container on the
counter. “Isaac made some maple fudge. Better get some before Mrs. Flannigan
comes in and snaps them all up.” Mrs. Flannigan was the neighbourhood gossip
who had taken to Isaac’s baking samples that I had begun to leave on the
counter for customers. She came in on a daily basis to help herself but never
buy anything, much to Mrs. P’s disgust. Tiffy giggled again and dipped her
head shyly. I winked at her and headed through the adjoining door to see the
progress on the new shop.

I stopped in the doorway and stared in shock. A complete
transformation had taken place since the last time I had seen it. The new
French doors, cut into the exposed brick wall and framed in a richly stained walnut,
perfectly matched the existing wainscoting. The walls were a warm,
pale yellow. On one side of the room, Morris and his crew - workmen that
seemed to materialize out of nowhere under Mrs. P’s command - were busy
installing the shelves and cabinets of what would be the workstation behind the
large glass-front pastry case. There would be a long, wide counter
surface along the back wall to hold the coffee machine and provide a prep
surface. A second lower counter was planned, curving out from the wall to meet
the display case, defining the work area and providing a place for several
stools for customers looking for a quick perch to enjoy their coffee and pastry.
On the wall opposite the soon to be finished work area, three booths had been
installed, all fitted out in deep walnut. They hadn’t been part of my plan,
but they looked great.

“Oh Harry dear, there you are.” Mrs. P bustled over to me
and wrapped me in her arms, giving me the biggest, in fact the only, hug she
ever had. “I’m so happy you are well, dear.”

“Mrs. P!” I was a bit shocked by the PDA. I hugged her
back awkwardly.

“That
anacróir
Eliassander, he got what he deserved,
he did.” She patted me on the back. “Don’t you worry, Harry, ‘tis not a soul
on the
sluagh sidhe
that holds you responsible for his death or those of
the pixies and redcaps.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” I replied. And it was. I
hadn’t actually thought about the consequences of killing Navarre or Prince
Eliassander as he was known Underhill. Not to mention all the pixies and
redcaps Nash and I had dispatched. It was good to know the winged fair folk
didn’t hold a grudge.

“You’re just in time, dear,” Mrs. P continued, releasing me
from her grip. “I was just looking at some fabric samples for the booth
seating.” She looked at me worriedly. “I hope you don’t mind? They weren’t on
your plan…”

“Mind? No way. They look great!” I stepped over to them
to take a closer look. “The workmanship is fabulous and they fit perfectly in
the space, much better for customer traffic flow.”

“Och, now.” Mrs. P blushed a little. “I’m glad you like
them, dear.”

“Oh, I do. And the carvings are beautiful.” I bent to look
closer at the daisies carved daintily along the back of the bench. I turned in
time to see Morris puff up with pride. I guess he must have been the
craftsman.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. P clapped her hands. “Now dear, help me
pick out a fabric to cover the seat and back cushions for the benches.” She
hurried over to the last booth and pulled out four large swatches of cloth.
One was a floral, but it looked too feminine; another was too plain. The third
was a pinstripe in cream with burgundy and green accents. The last had similar
colours as the third, but it was a pattern that made me think of coffee beans
for some reason.

“Hmmm, it’s not an easy choice.” I pointed to the third and
fourth samples. “These two are my favourites, but I can’t decide.” I studied
them for a few minutes. “What about if we cover the bench cushions with this
one,” I pointed to the coffee bean sample, “and did the backrests with the
stripe?”

“Perfect solution, dear.” Mrs. P beamed at me. “The
pattern will be perfect for the seats where there are apt to be spills and we
can still use some of the stripe, which was my favourite.” She bustled over
to a folder and started sorting through papers. “Now have you given any
thought to what you are going to call the new shop?”

“No. I guess I haven’t.” I bit my lip in thought.

Mrs. P patted me on the arm. “Well, give it some thought
now, won’t you dear?”

“I…” I froze and took a deep breath, all of my senses
suddenly on high alert. Although I couldn’t see him yet, I knew that Nash had
arrived. “I will,” I said, hastily turning around. Nash leaned casually in
the adjoining doorway. His expression was reserved yet friendly, but he gave
me the impression of a spring coiled too tight.

“Detective Nash!” Mrs. P smiled and threw out her arms at
him. “What a lovely surprise.”

Nash’s eyes met mine and there was something fierce in them,
almost wild. He took a deep breath and then tore his gaze away to look at Mrs.
P. “Mrs. Potts, you look lovely as ever.” He smiled his sexy-rogue smile at
her and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Oh pish-posh, you cheeky boy.” She giggled again. I
couldn’t help it, I rolled my eyes. The man was a lethal weapon around women.
“Well dear, you didn’t come to see me, so I’ll just go next door and see what
Tiffy is about.” She bustled off leaving me standing awkwardly looking at
Nash. At least Morris and his crew where still there to keep things civil.

“I –”

“You –”

We both started and stopped speaking at the same time. Nash
took a step towards me and I stepped sideways, crossing my arms protectively.

“I’m glad to see you’re up and out of the hospital,” I said,
biting my lip nervously. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, the feeling is mutual.” He took a step closer, his
nostrils flaring as he took in my scent. He seemed to relax a little, as if
reassured, and he let out a deep breath. “Listen, Harry. I know I fucked up.”

I snorted, some of the tension I was feeling dissipating.
“Ya think?”

Nash ran a hand through his hair. Damn it all, it only made
him look sexier. He took another step towards me, almost closing the gap
between us. “I know I did.” He grimaced. “And believe me, if I didn’t, my
sisters all made sure I got an earful so that I understood what a bollocks I
made of everything.” I couldn’t help it, I smiled at the thought of
Eileen, Evaine and Christina all ganging up on their little brother.