CHAPTER ONE
Seven Years Ago - London
Normally the fog and drizzle would have irritated Tanner. So would standing for hours in a tight alcove just across from the embassy, waiting for action. But tonight he had a companion, and was just fine spending time alone with her.
His cell phone buzzed.
“The guards inside are rotating,” Javier said. “Be sure Chantal pays attention to anyone approaching the gate on foot, even if they don’t stop.”
“What do you think we’ve been doing for the last five hours?” Tanner snapped. “If a Dissembler’s walking down the next block, she’ll smell him.”
“Don’t let her get distracted.” Click.
“Fuck you,” he muttered at his phone. He and Javier had been trained to detect a Dissembler assassin at close range, but Chantal Durand could smell their foul majik from a hundred yards or more—which was why she and Tanner were outside in the elements instead of sitting in a warm surveillance vehicle.
“Javier’s an ass,” Chantal said. “I don’t understand how he can be your best friend.”
“He’s a good guy, even though you two don’t get along.”
“I’m not the one with the problem. He hates me and resents all the First Order.”
She was right. When no one else was around, Javier frequently bad-mouthed the First Order Durand—Adrien, the future head of the family, and his first cousins, including Chantal. Tanner had figured out long ago that his friend was jealous of their wealth and superior psychic abilities.
Chantal rolled her shoulders and stretched. “I almost wish something would happen.”
Her auburn hair glistened in the gold streetlight, and the faint scent of expensive shampoo and even more expensive perfume floated to his nose. Chantal, the wild child, had grown up to be a stunning woman without shedding the daredevil nature that had drawn him to her so many years ago. At twenty-two, the three-year age difference between them no longer made her off limits, even if her birthright did.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Cold?” he asked.
“And hungry. How about we blow this gig for a nice English breakfast at Claridge’s?”
“Come here.” Tanner opened his wool trench coat and pulled her back against his body.
As he folded her into his coat and into his arms, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “Better not let your compadre catch you consorting with the enemy.”
“He can mind his own damn business.” Javier would give him hell if he caught them together, but luckily he was posted in the guardhouse at the other entrance.
She rested her back against him, her curves fitting perfectly. “This waiting is pointless. It looks like Javier’s intel was crap. Again.”
The heat of her body warmed his blood. Over the past three days, something between them had shifted—a look here and a touch there. He wanted more.
“Once it gets light, we’ll leave,” he said. And go their separate ways again, each on a new Protector assignment. For now she was cocooned in his coat, against his body, and he couldn’t bear to let her go. He’d wanted her for too long.
“Why don’t you come to Turkey with me?” she said. “Adrien ordered me to leave tomorrow to check out some artifacts that surfaced after the last earthquake. A couple may have mystical properties, so he wants me to read their history. You might be able to pick up information from the site’s energy.”
“Mark wants me in Guatemala by the weekend.” He wasn’t excited about reading the residual energy of a bizarre mass execution, but that was his psychic ability and his role in the war against the Durand’s ancient enemies.
“So it’ll be another year before we work together again.” The disappointment in her voice matched his.
“Chantal,” he murmured into her hair. “I wish we had more time.”
“Me too.” She turned in his arms and angled her face up to his. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes shone blue even in the dim light. Her lips were so close and inviting.
He brushed her mouth with his, and her breath hitched. Then he kissed her in earnest, tasting lemon on her tongue as it met his. Her arms slid around him and he held her tightly.
Her lips were soft, plump, and delicious. He devoured her mouth—tasted, explored, claimed it—and she met his invasion greedily. Her hands snaked around his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him fiercely. When her teeth raked his bottom lip, he groaned. “You make me crazy.”
“Let’s get out of here.” She stepped out of the warmth of his coat and took his hand. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
Tanner barely rebuttoned his coat when the thunder of an underground blast shook the building at their backs and they rushed into the street. “What the hell was that?” he asked.
“This way.” Chantal dropped Tanner’s hand and took off running in the direction of the explosion.
He kept up with her, but as they passed by the guardhouse, he glanced over at the location where Javier was stationed. It was empty.
In the next block, they saw the chaos. People were writhing on the ground crying, others running is every direction, screaming. Smoke poured out of the underground entrance along with soot-covered commuters. In the distance sirens wailed and a few police were already on the scene.
Chantal slowed to a walk. “A bomb. Probably more than one.”
“So many injured. We should help.”
“We are.” She stopped and inhaled deeply. “That way.” She pointed down a side alley. “Two Dissemblers”
They took off again, weaving through the crowds. The trail zigzagged through narrow streets and alleys to an old warehouse district. Around a sharp corner stood Javier, cell phone in hand. He started when he saw them and pocketed his phone.
“They went through that door,” Chantal said.
“I know,” Javier sneered. “I tracked them here.”
The brick building was smaller than its neighbors. Someone had jimmied the lock.
Tanner checked the side of the warehouse—no doors. “Have you called Adrien?”
“We can handle this.” Javier glanced at Chantal. “You stand guard outside while Tanner and I go in.”
“That’s not how it works,” Chantal said. “We call Adrien, give our position and assessment, and he decides whether we go in or not.”
“Adrien isn’t here, I am. I say we go in before they get away.”
Chantal stepped forward and glared at Javier. “The two Dissemblers from the subway have powerful majik. You’re no match for them.”
“Fuck you, Chantal. I’m sick of you and the rest of the First Order. We’re going in. You stay out here to make sure nobody else shows up.” Javier headed for the door. “Tanner, let’s go.”
Tanner hesitated.
“Don’t follow him,” Chantal pleaded.
“I can’t let him go in alone. Call Adrien and wait here.”
She nodded and he followed Javier into the building.
The only light in the hallway came from a filthy low-watt bulb that hung from the ceiling. They crept noiselessly down a dusty corridor that reeked of mold and rodent droppings. Cover was limited to stacks of wooden pallets, discarded office furniture, cardboard boxes, or rusted equipment.
Fluorescent light radiated from the management office at the other end of the open space. Once, the foreman or manager would have monitored the workers through the huge window. Now the glass was broken and the voices of four men inside drifted indistinctly in their direction.
“Take cover here,” Javier whispered. “I’m going to work my way over to the stairway and try to get a height advantage. Don’t fire until I do.”
Tanner watched his friend disappear, then found a vantage point where he could see the terrorists. The police might capture the two non-psychic ordinaires, but the authorities would be powerless against the two Dissemblers’ psychic abilities and dark majik. They had to be stopped now.
Crouched on one knee, he waited and listened. Somewhere water dripped. The scratching sound in the trash was probably rats. His guns were ready and he had extra clips of ammo in his front pocket where he could get them. He was so intent on Javier’s position to his right he didn’t notice the movement to his left until the report shattered the quiet.
Three shots in quick succession—two men in the office went down—and all hell broke loose. Tanner started to fire, but the men had already taken cover and were firing back with much heavier artillery than he packed. The wall of pallets in front of him took enough assault rifle fire to begin collapsing, but he didn’t dare leave its safety.
Chantal darted from her original position and threw herself behind a pile of furniture anchored by an old desk and some file cabinets. She was fast, but not fast enough. A bullet caught her calf and she cried out.
What the hell did she think she was doing? He and Javier had had a plan. His hands shook with fury. She’d had her orders and still came in and started a shit storm. A bullet whizzed by his shoulder and he pulled back. He listened for Javier, but there was no way to tell who was firing.
The explosion came a moment later. Debris pelted Tanner’s toppling cover and rained down on his head until he covered himself with his jacket. Smoke filled the air and a fire crackled to his right. A quick glance confirmed the source—the stairway where Javier had taken cover was gone and the building was ablaze.
“We have to get out of here,” Chantal called to him.
“Javier’s in there. We have to pull him out.”
“Nobody could survive that blast or the fire. We need to go.” She tried to stand, but her left leg wouldn’t hold her weight.
His training kicked in, and he went into action, picking her up and carrying her out the way he’d come in. When they got outside, he set her on her feet and looked around.
“That way.” She pointed down the street opposite the subway bombsite. They took off, her leaning on him, his arm circling her waist. At the end of the second block, a familiar black Range Rover stood parked at the curb, but its driver was gone.
“Adrien will be back in a few minutes,” Chantal said. “Would you help me into the back seat?”
Tanner opened the door, his hand trembling. Grief and fury churned in his chest. “He’s dead because of you. Javier is dead. You couldn’t do what he asked. What possessed you to barge in there and start shooting?” She started to speak and he raised his hand to stop her. “No, don’t tell me. You couldn’t take orders from him, so you took matters into your own hands. Now my best friend is dead.”
She stared at him defiantly. “That’s what you think?”
“I was there.” He turned his back on her and walked away.
CHAPTER TWO
Present – Somewhere Over Montana
Chantal Durand peered out of the window of the Gulfstream at the tree-covered mountains and deep rocky valleys--so different from the Australian Outback where she’d spent the last three years working on an archeology dig. And the last four weeks in jail.
She shuddered. Thanks to her cousin, Mark, that ordeal was over, and a payback assignment lay in her immediate future. As Field General of the Durand Protectors his message had been clear—you owe me. So here she was, about to land god-knew-where, to do whatever she was told.
The plane made a smooth landing and coasted down the runway. As it approached a weathered hangar, Chantal searched the tarmac for her brother, Victor. Mark had ordered her here by text while she was en route—catch the Durand Tech jet for Montana and meet Victor. At the time she’d been relieved to have an assignment instead of returning home to Paris in disgrace. Now? Maybe she should have asked more questions.
The flight attendant opened the rear door of the aircraft, allowing icy air to blast into the cabin. Chantal shivered and buttoned her jacket. It had been spring when she left Sydney two days ago. God, she hated the cold.
She pocketed her ComDev—a Durand Tech Communications Device—and opened the luggage storage compartment.
“Do you need help with your bags?” the attendant asked. “I don’t want to rush you, but a team is waiting for a pickup in Denver.”
“Thanks. I can handle them myself.” She pulled out her duffle and backpack and hoisted the backpack strap over her shoulder. “I appreciate the ride.”
The young man nodded stiffly. “Just following orders. Have a good evening, Ms. Durand.”
She descended the stairs onto the runway, her eyes tearing in the chilly wind. Her winter jacket was packed in her duffle along with a cashmere scarf. She’d expected her obsessively prompt brother to be there waiting. So where was he?
Dusk had fallen and night wasn’t far behind. Aside from the sparse runway lights at either end of the private landing strip, the only sign of life was a glow in the window of a low metal building a couple hundred yards beyond the hangar. Her knee-high Chanel boots weren’t designed for hiking, but they’d make it just fine if necessary. And the weight of the Glock in the inner pocket of her jacket reassured her.
“Do you need for us to wait with you?” the copilot called from the door of the plane.
“No, go on. My ride will be here any minute.”
Without hesitating, he pulled up the stairs and closed the door, leaving her alone. She headed for the hangar and out of the way of the jet engines just as they roared to life. A minute later, the Gulfstream was gone.
The hangar was locked up tight. She tucked into a doorway out of the wind and retrieved her ComDev from her pocket. “Call Victor,” she ordered. His voicemail answered.
“Damn it! Where are you?” She shivered as she pulled her winter jacket from her duffle and put it on.
A pair of headlights appeared in the distance heading her way. Relief washed over her. Gathering up her bags, she began walking toward the oncoming vehicle. It was moving fast over the rough road, its headlights bouncing as it took the ruts. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. This wasn’t her brother’s white Macan.
She dropped her duffle, drew the pistol from inside her jacket and slipped it into the right-hand pocket of her coat.
A dark-colored Tahoe ground to a halt twenty feet in front of her, blinding her in its high beams. She shielded her eyes and waited for Victor to get out. Several seconds passed and nothing. Something was very wrong. Using her psychic ability and Protector training, she scanned the vehicle. She detected a shielded mind, which meant another psychic. Great. The driver was either on her side or she had a fight on her hands. With no cover. In Chanel boots, damn it.
Slipping her hand in her pocket, her fingers closed around the handle of the Glock. If the driver was a Dissembler, she’d know the moment she caught the scent of dark majik.
The truck door opened and a man got out. Every muscle in her body tensed for action as she tasted the air. No noxious stench of the enemy. Still, something wasn’t right. Even in the dark she could see the man’s head topped the SUV by a couple of inches. Her heart pounded and she cocked the pistol as he stepped from behind the door.
“Are you getting in or not?” His voice was deep, American-accented, and irritated.
Her hand clenched the handle of the Glock. “Who are you? Where’s Victor?”
His chuckle startled her. “That son of a bitch didn’t tell you.”
The stranger stepped into the light. Chantal gasped. Her brain reeled. No. Anyone but him.
He’d changed in seven years, filled out and hardened. But it was him all right. Tanner Hays. The last time she’d seen him, he’d accused her of killing his best friend. And walked away.
“Get in the truck,” he said. “We have work to do tonight.”
She didn’t move. “Why did you agree to this assignment?”
“Orders.”
“You knew you’d be working with me?”
“Yeah. Now get in the fucking truck.”
Heat rushed through her body and her hands trembled. How could Mark do this to her? He knew Tanner hated her and how devastated she’d been that he’d never given her the chance to explain. She glanced around. They were alone with nothing but black wilderness in sight. She had no choice but to go with him.
She picked up her bags, stalked to the SUV, and tossed them in the back seat. He was already in the driver’s seat when she climbed in.
“Dressed to impress as usual,” he said as the Tahoe started to move. “Hope you brought something besides those ridiculous boots.”
“My work clothes are in my duffle. Victor said he was picking me up.” Her brother would have appreciated her attire, not criticized it. “Where is Victor, anyhow?”
“Something urgent came up. He was at my place in Jackson for the last four days and had to leave early this morning—a stolen relic or amulet or something. He didn’t fill me in on the details.”
No, he wouldn’t have. For security, Protectors operated on a need-to-know basis. “Where are we headed?”
“To a cabin I rented. A local archeologist called me about a clay tile one of the Blackfeet elders found in the intestines of a bear. You’re here to read it.”
“Of course,” she muttered.
“The Blackfeet are close to the natural world and attuned to its energy. When one of them senses power in an object, we check it out.”
He was right. This was what they did. Just not together, not for a long, long time.
“Can we call a truce?” she asked. “Neither of us wants to be here.”
“Wrong. I like being here. I just don’t want you here.”
“Not your call or mine.” Neither of them would ever refuse Mark’s orders, but for very different reasons.
She stared out the window into the darkness for several minutes. The night was black and no signs of civilization lit the road ahead or behind. The dashboard lights threw a glow on Tanner and she finally gave in to the temptation to study him.
His face had lost its youthful warmth, transformed into a dark, brooding maturity that emphasized the high cheekbones and strong features of his mother’s Native American ancestry. His dark hair was shorter than it used to be, just skimming his collar. And the scar was new. The angry line from the corner of his right eye to his jaw didn’t so much disfigure his face as turn up the wattage on the masculine danger he exuded.
Warmth pooled in her stomach and she looked away. He’d matured into a handsome man, but that didn’t change a thing between them. Still, she couldn’t help remembering the way he’d kissed her—a kiss she’d never been able to forget.
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