In the Crossfire (Bloodhaven) (29 page)

Liam snorted, telling her without words exactly what he thought about that. Her wolf never had much use for words, Isobel mused.

She stopped walking before they could enter the living room. Their joined hands drew Liam to a halt. He glanced back at her curiously.

“I put in a request to reduce my hours.”

He paused. His gaze was cautious, unreadable. He stepped closer, his thumb stroking back and forth across her knuckles. “Is that what you want?”

She nodded. “I realized. . . . I know I put myself at risk on a regular basis as it is, and I love that you accept that part of my life. I just don’t want to spend sixteen hours a day—I don’t want to spend the majority of my life—away from you and Naley. I want to live my life with you for as long as I can.”

Liam’s hand tightened around hers. Then he drew her closer, slipping his other arm around her waist. He lowered his head and caressed her mouth with his.

Eventually he lifted his head, and they stood there in each other’s arms for several moments. Then he took her hand again. “I need to tell you something.”

He led her into the living room and sat them both on the sofa, their knees barely touching. Isobel looked at him warily. Liam’s solemn expression made her feel uncertain.

“I made an appointment to see somebody.” He quietly put a business card in her hand.

Isobel read the name and number of a therapist in Bloodhaven. She stared at the card, bringing all her emotions under control before looking up at him.

“I’ll run every single check on her,” she vowed, keeping her voice steady. “Make sure she knows what she’s doing. She has to be the best.”

Liam squeezed her hand. “Later. Before I see her, there are some things I need to tell you.”

And he did.

With words sometimes halting, sometimes strong, Liam told her about some of the things he’d done during the war. He told her about some of what had transpired during his time in captivity. He told her about some of the places he’d been to, in the time between his leaving his old pack and his meeting her.

He didn’t tell her everything. There were times when he struggled with words, when he pulled away from her touch. There were times when he let her hold him.

Some of what he told her expanded on what he’d already revealed back in his cabin several weeks ago. Most of it, however, was completely new. As he got more accustomed, as the words flowed more easily, Isobel continued to listen.

She didn’t always have the right thing to say. Most of the time, she couldn’t say anything at all.

But Liam didn’t ask for her to say the right thing. It was enough that she was there, that she listened, and so she did.

Later that night, she ran alongside him underneath the light of the moon. She sat beside him as he howled, and he chuff-laughed at her when her attempt to mimic him produced a yowl. After they made love under the stars, he held her in his arms and pressed his mouth to her ear.

“I spent all these years searching,” he whispered. “I found my way to you.”

Isobel closed her eyes and knew she’d never been happier.

# # #

Lynn Graeme was born in the tropics before moving first to the US and then to Canada. She is pretty sure she might end up even further north, if only by sheer magnetic pull.

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A Note from the Author

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In the Crossfire.
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In the Crossfire
is part of the
Bloodhaven
series. Please turn the page to read an excerpt from the first book in the series,
Eye of the Storm
. Enjoy!

“Mr. Moran, may I have a word?”

Grayson turned, unsurprised to find the young woman standing there before him. His wolf hearing had already alerted him the moment she’d set foot in the parking garage. Her scent had reached him long before she’d approached him at his car.

That scent bore traces of lavender soap and—oddly enough—something faintly antiseptic, as if she’d just emerged from a doctor’s office. She didn’t look like a medic, however, in her dark jacket and jeans with mildly stained tennis shoes. A battered backpack slung over one shoulder. One hand was clenched into a tight fist at her side.

Grayson studied that fist silently before letting his gaze travel upward. The severe fluorescent lights did no favors for her pale face and dark, unsmiling eyes. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She did meet his gaze unflinchingly, however, and Grayson always awarded points for courage.

His eyes instinctively ran down those long legs encased in jeans. Grayson had always been a leg man.

At any other time, he might’ve enjoyed those thighs resting on his shoulders, and if that thought wasn’t startling enough, he didn’t know what was. It’d been a long time since he’d indulged in female companionship. Not to mention that if anyone was able to break his dry spell, he would hardly have expected her to be human.

Disturbed by the unexpected tug in his gut, he glanced around with a casualness he didn’t feel. His enhanced senses confirmed the deserted space around them, telling him that no one else hid behind neighboring cars or was using the woman as a decoy.

How had she gained access to the parking garage?

Grayson had increased the level of security at Moran Industries ever since he’d released that press statement against the extremist shifter factions. Anyone without ID should never have been allowed to enter Moran Towers in the first place.

The security guards should’ve intercepted this woman long before now.

She was human, so Grayson was almost wholly certain she wasn’t aligned with the factions. They would never have stooped to associate with what they regarded as “the lesser species.” Still, her unexplained presence posed a risk.

Grayson returned his attention to the woman. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven’t.” Dark eyes remained steady on him. Her words came out careful and measured. “I need to speak with you.”

Grayson wasn’t fooled. Calm as she pretended to be, he could sense her inner tension. It was practically vibrating off her in waves.

“I’m afraid it’s after hours, Miss. . . ?”

“It’s importa—”

“Then call my assistant and make an appointment,” he cut in brusquely. He turned to swipe his thumb over the keypad on his car door, initiating the unlocking mechanism.

He still kept her in the corner of his sight. He was no fool; he wasn’t turning his back on her.

“Mr. Moran, it’s critical that I talk to you. In private.”

He tossed his briefcase onto the backseat. “How did you get in here?”

“Mr. Moran—”

“Leave your name with the guar—”

“
Please.
”

Grayson paused. There was something in the way she said it, that
please.

He would’ve questioned his reaction further—considering the tense situation of late, he’d be an idiot to let his guard down—but there was a sense of suppressed desperation around this woman that he couldn’t ignore. The fist at her side was clenched so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

Grayson had a feeling she’d run if he said the wrong thing. And for some reason, he didn’t want her to go just yet.

Please.

Just idle curiosity, he told himself. He could indulge in that, at least.

He nodded at his car. “Get in.”

She rounded over to the passenger side and slid in. Grayson didn’t follow at once, but instead made another quick survey of their surroundings. He studied the shadows, satisfied only when he confirmed no other presence lurking.

Still, he wasn’t pleased that she’d managed to infiltrate the building. He’d have a harsh word with security in the morning.

Just then, he spotted Arthur coming around the corner, presumably doing his rounds. The leopard-shifter was one of three security guards assigned to this shift. Grayson could only assume the other two were patrolling the other side of the parking level, but that didn’t excuse this unacceptable lapse.

Arthur, still strolling from a distance away, saw Grayson as he crossed over to enter the windowed security booth. He gave a small, cheerful salute before settling into the chair by the window.

Grayson eyed the fifty feet separating him from the windowed booth. Several vehicles were also parked between his car and the booth, and the angle meant that part of his car—and Grayson’s new companion—were hidden from Arthur’s sight. Still, Grayson knew he could easily alert the guard at any time should this turn out to be a trap after all.

He slid in behind the wheel and closed the door.

“Before we go any further, sweetheart, I should tell you I make it a habit to know the name of any woman requesting a private moment with me.”

Her cheeks flushed. In close quarters, away from the harsh lighting, her profile looked less stoic, more vulnerable.

“Start the car,” she said quietly.

Grayson raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were going anywhere.”

“Start the car,” she repeated. If anything, her voice went even softer. “I’ll tell you everything, just start. The. Car.”

Then she unobtrusively rubbed her earlobe between thumb and finger, and he understood.

He pressed his thumb to the ignition, rumbling the car to life. Music immediately started playing over the sound system. He adjusted the volume so that it was loud enough to mask their conversation, preventing any nearby shifters from overhearing their words.

It was a precaution he wouldn’t have expected an ordinary human to take into account. He narrowed his eyes at her, considering.

Grayson felt her studying him in turn. He felt it the moment it hit her—the awareness of his superior size and speed, the realization that he could easily hurt her if he so chose. Her breath hitched. A ripple went through her tense shoulders, her lips pressing together tightly in an effort to remain steady.

He suppressed the instinctive need to soothe her fears. Never mind that anyone who knew him knew that the last thing he’d do was harm an unprotected female. Right now, he’d happily take advantage of her misgivings to obtain some answers.

She was aware that he was predator and she was prey. That should deter her from doing anything foolish.

“Your name,” he reminded silkily.

She drew in a deep breath. The action pressed the softness of her breasts against the T-shirt she wore underneath her jacket.

Please.

The single clenched fist lay on her lap. He resisted the urge to reach over and open that fist to gently stroke her palm.

She finally spoke.

“My name is Sara Coulson.” She sent him a veiled look. “I want your word that you won’t reveal my name to anyone else.”

Grayson frowned. “I make no promises until I know what this is about.”

“If anybody finds out I was the one to come forward. . . .” She bit her lip, glancing away, but not before he saw her suppress a shudder.

Something had spooked her. Spooked her enough to come to him, although why she’d chosen to approach him in the first place he didn’t know.

But her fear was real enough. His earlier suspicions eased. That inexplicable, indelible need to reassure her surged to the surface once more, and this time he didn’t try to quell it.

He’d seen this before. The guarded expression, the tense posture, the constant looking over the shoulder. . . . He’d seen it in the fearful eyes of children in the foster homes he’d lived in. He’d seen it in the nervously clasped hands of little girls looking for shelter, and in the young boys menaced by adults bent on imposing their will against those incapable of striking back.

He’d seen it in himself, before he’d clawed and scraped his way to the top of the heap so that nobody could ever wield such power over him again.

Anyone attempting to inflict harm on this woman would have hell to pay.

He reached over and enfolded her fist with his much larger hand. She froze.