Mrs. Kenyon?”
* * *
Faran sat outside the corner bistro three blocks away from the palace. After leaving Lexie—and after Chloe had told him to go cool his jets—he’d slipped into the guardhouse and cleaned out his locker. Now he wore a light trench coat and had the local newspaper folded in front of him on the small glass-topped table, looking like any other young professional caught between appointments.
He was trying not to brood, but it was far from a complete success. It was as if he had an idiot button, and Lexie pushed it every time they met. But some instincts were more than human society could handle—and that was the whole problem.
Back in Paris he’d gotten himself on the bad side of bad men—a hazard of working undercover. Stupidly, one of them had tried to get to Faran by hurting Lexie. That was a very bad choice. There were some lines no one got to cross—and hurting Faran’s mate was one of them.
But that night Lexie saw what a rage-filled werewolf could do. She was gone by the next day, leaving no more than a note. His need to protect—as much a part of him as his head or hands—had driven her from his side.
And now Chloe had saddled him with a cover identity as Lexie’s husband and assistant. Chloe had meant to give him a plausible excuse to be in the palace, but that meant Lexie would be close to whatever trouble Faran might stir up. This is going to be no end of fun.
Regret stewed with anger in his gut. It was true what they said about love and hate being one step apart. He’d never hate Lexie, but his love had edged to that painful point where it was hard to tell the difference. He was a lone wolf, orphaned and raised up rough. Self-worth had come hard, and trust even harder. Lexie hadn’t destroyed him, but she’d left a hole that still hadn’t healed.
Disgusted with everything, Faran took another swallow of coffee, feeling the sugar and caffeine already buzzing along his nerves. The wound in his side was a steady ache.
Instinctively, he watched the street. Crowds walked by, some locals and some clearly visitors. No one seemed to notice the green-coated Vidonese guards everywhere, replacing the usual patrols like a spreading stain.
They were, however, looking at the red-haired woman striding down the street like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Faran set down his coffee. He knew that set of her mouth. She was swallowing back tears. He had to go to her. Now.
Or not. Hadn’t he tried the whole rescue thing once already today? And yet, he had to know what Valois had said about the ring. There was every chance its theft was connected to the scene last night. He had to talk to her, whether he liked it or not.
Faran abandoned the coffee and strode after her. He caught up in seconds.
“Lexie!” he cried, grabbing her arm. “What happened after I left?”
She turned, her hair whipping around her face. In the thin sunlight, the long waves were the color of turning leaves—not one shade of orange or red, but all of them—like a riot of flame. He dropped his hand as if the hue alone could scorch.
To his utter surprise, she fell against him with a strangled noise, her arms around his neck. Not sure what else to do, he held her. The way her tall, slender frame fit against his was all too familiar. They’d stood like this a thousand times, her cheek against his shoulder, the curve of her back under his hand. He tensed, afraid to remember too much—even if his body knew her soft skin and sweet, womanly scent.
It was just as well he held back, because the next instant Lexie pulled away, her eyes wide as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. “I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” he replied.
She scanned his face, her expression cautious. It rankled.
“What happened in there, Lexie?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. “How come they let you out?”
She didn’t answer, just studied the pavement.
“What happened?” he asked again in a flat tone.
She heaved a slight sigh. “Valois can’t prove anything right now, but I think we’re still in trouble. More trouble. I was actually— I was actually going to find Chloe and see if she knew where you were. But I kept getting her voice mail.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice careful. This was a complete reversal from telling him to get lost. “Now you’ve found me.”
With jerky movements, she looked around. “We need to go somewhere private.”
“How private?”
Lexie angled away, her shoulders tight. “Away from the palace. I feel like there are eyes everywhere.”
She was probably right. Besides, staying put wasn’t in Lexie’s nature. She didn’t even like going to the same restaurant twice. Faran nodded, but not too eagerly. He’d learned his lesson about overenthusiasm that morning. “Let’s go for a drive. That always makes me feel like I’m getting somewhere, even if I’m not.”
They could be alone in a car. Lexie gave him a look just shy of apprehensive, but nodded. They went to the garage at the far end of the palace grounds where her rented Peugeot was parked. Since it was her car, Faran was content to let her drive. Sort of. Lexie was an excellent driver, but she’d never met an accelerator she didn’t like.
Soon she was tearing down the service road that wound behind the myriad stables, garages, work sheds and other utilitarian buildings that kept the Palace of Marcari functioning. At the bottom of a sloping hill, she turned right onto the scenic coastal highway.
“So tell me what wasn’t safe to say on the street,” Faran ventured.
Lexie ran through the interview blow-by-blow. “Valois is suspicious. He pulled a lot off the computer about both of us. I think that’s why he kept leaving the room. He wanted to check on the progress of his computer minions.”
“Minions?” Faran echoed.
Lexie frowned. The expression looked dangerous with all that red hair. “Men like Valois have minions. He hinted about your associates in the jewelry business. What was that about?”
“That file was supposed to be buried deep.” The Company had pulled him out of a bad life and given him choices. Part of that had been wiping the official slate clean. Faran looked out the window. “I was a kid. It was stupid kid stuff.”
“Something illegal?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“You could call it that.” Some were still doing time for their last score, but Lexie didn’t need to know the details. “I was on my own. Some people had uses for a small kid with exceptional agility. I could get around obstacles they couldn’t.”
“You were a cat burglar.”
“I don’t like cats.”
But the label was accurate. He’d received an education in thievery, especially precious stones. It had been a crack team, going after the best pieces. With Amelie’s ring missing, no wonder Valois was interested.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Lexie asked.
Because you already had one foot out the door. “I’m not proud of it. There’s never a good time to start a discussion about your juvenile arrest record.”
She shifted gears to take a hairpin curve. “Before we moved in together would have been good.”
But by then he was too far gone in love to risk losing her. “I didn’t plan to screw everything up.”
“We never do,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for all the ways I hurt you.”
The soft words surprised him so much he forgot everything else. “You are?”
She didn’t answer, but the blood rushed to her cheeks. He looked away, knowing that if he pushed her to say more the moment would be ruined. In the brief silence, his gaze