Taming the Lion Page 15

  “Did they tell you what might be on the hard drives?”

  His head cocked to the side, visibly intrigued by her question. “Just that it would help us get the Big Bad. Why?”

  “It’s records, Mateo. Records of who they took, what they did to them and where they are. We could know for sure. Your sister…”

  He didn’t look boyish now. His eyes blazed with icy determination. “Consider them cracked.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t. Not yet.” His throat worked. “I should get back to it.”

  “Right. Thanks,” she said again, even though he’d asked her not to. She slipped out of the bunker, the doors locking tight behind her.

  Mateo had come to the pride from L.A. as a teenager after his sister had vanished and he’d realized that even in a city of millions, they weren’t protected from those who would stalk shifters. The human police had no luck with his sister’s case, insisting she was a runaway, and though Mateo had scoured the Internet for any trace of her in the years since, he’d come up short.

  He wouldn’t sleep until he unlocked the hard drives. Neither would Patch.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was after eleven when the scratch came at her door.

  She’d told herself last night was the last night. She’d told herself that if he came back, she’d ignore him. But that was before the last hour, sitting up in bed, staring blankly at the pages of the book in her lap and thinking about her parents. Over and over again in a cycle that wouldn’t stop. Loops of thought that just pulled her deeper and deeper into the mire of her own personal hell.

  So when he scratched at her door at eleven-seventeen, she let him in, clicking the door shut behind him.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked, taking in the rumpled covers, the bedside light, the abandoned book and her from head to bare toes. She’d left her hair loose and wore a faded National Parks T-shirt and boxers. From the way Roman’s pupils dilated, he liked the view.

  “Can’t sleep,” she admitted. She was normally early to bed early to rise—a habit picked up over years of taking advantage of daylight to guide hikers—but tonight it was creeping toward midnight and her mind wouldn’t relax. “Did you just get free?”

  He nodded wearily. “Every possible scenario of every possible situation had to be discussed.”

  “And?”

  He grimaced. “More security around here. Stronger request to move in outliers. No hunting party.”

  So he’d been fighting all day and got nowhere.

  “Come here.” She took his wrist—so much broader than her own—and tugged him toward the bed. “Take off your shirt and lie down.”

  He grinned and sat on the bed, toeing off his boots and dragging off his black knit shirt before sprawling out on his back.

  She nudged his knee with hers. “On your stomach.”

  His eyes sparked with gratitude as he realized what she had in mind, and he rolled obediently to his stomach, stretching out flat on the bed. She crawled over him until she straddled his glutes and set her hands to the muscles of his shoulders, leaning her weight down through her hands as she kneaded.

  “Oh Jesus, that’s amazing,” he groaned.

  “Shut up and relax,” she told him, rolling his tension and strength beneath her hands.

  He obeyed, save the occasional groan, and soon his breathing was deep and easy, knots of stress loosening beneath her hands. But her stress wasn’t so easy to wipe away. Her thoughts would not be still.

  “Do you think it’s real?” she asked softly. “The information on the hard drives?” If they could even access it.

  His muscles jumped, tension reentering his frame, then he shrugged, his back shifting beneath her hands. “I don’t know. If it’s a trap, it’s perfect. Too good to be true, but too tempting to resist.”

  Exactly what she had thought. “What does your gut say?”

  “I don’t listen to my gut.”

  “Try.”

  He groaned and rolled beneath her so she wound up with his hands braced on her hips, hers resting flat on his stomach as she straddled the waistband of his jeans. His dark eyes watched her. “My gut says I want it to be the real deal and that desire is compromising my instincts.”

  “I want it to be the real deal too,” she said, swinging a leg over to dismount. He reached out a hand to stop her, but she didn’t try to go farther, just sat with the side of her hip pressed against his. “I’ve thought my parents were dead for a long time now. It was just easier somehow, to think that.” She let him tangle his fingers through hers, but didn’t look at him. “If they were dead, I didn’t have to be angry with them for never coming for me or mad at myself for not doing more to find them. I didn’t have to feel guilty that I didn’t dedicate my entire life to freeing them.”

  “They would have wanted you to be happy,” he said. “To have a life you love.”

  “Is that what I have?” She swallowed, fighting the wetness in her eyes. “Family was important to them. To us. And here I am. Alone. Is that what they would have wanted?”

  Roman sat up and reached across their bodies with his free hand to tip her face toward him, forcing her to look away from the blank spot on the wall that had claimed her attention. His eyes were all she could see. “You aren’t alone. You have Lila. You have the pride.” You have me. He didn’t say it, but they both heard it in the silence. “You aren’t alone tonight.”

  She was the one who leaned into him, initiating the kiss. And it was she who pushed him back down to the bed and followed him down. She who set the frantic pace, pushing them faster, harder, fighting her way through to that beautiful oblivion that came when he brought her to completion. Again and again.

  And when she collapsed against him, exhausted, sated, her thoughts wiped clean, she was, at last, able to sleep.

  Roman leaped over the fence ties, the fur of his belly brushing the obstacle as he cleared it. It had been too long since he’d run the obstacle course. He was getting sloppy. Going soft spending his days in useless administrative meetings. Though Patch was certainly doing her best to keep him well exercised.

  The last few days they’d fallen into a sort of routine. They waited for Mateo to find something in the gobbledygook he’d pulled off the hard drives—apparently they hadn’t just been water damaged, but encrypted as well. They waited for the hawk to recover enough to lead them back to where he had been held—because all attempts to get coherent directions out of him had failed. Roman waited for the Alpha to see reason—and argued his way through advisory council meeting after advisory council meeting.

  And at the end of the day, Patch waited for him in her bungalow. Sometimes it felt like she was the only thing keeping him sane.

  Kye darted around him, passing him on the course, and Roman marshaled his wandering thoughts, refocusing on the task at hand. Or at his paws, in this case.

  Roman was bigger, stronger, with longer strides, but the snow leopard had agility and less bulk to haul around the course. The other soldiers and lieutenants on the course—none of them would come close to the course record set by Dominec, who wasn’t even officially part of the security team. Because he didn’t give a shit about the pride, as Roman had always thought? Or because he wasn’t a lion and didn’t feel accepted, like Patch had implied?

  Roman pushed himself through the rest of the course, managing to edge out Kye at the end, but only just. They shifted back and donned the clothes they’d set aside earlier as they watched the rest of the team complete the course—including the new recruits who were training to bulk up the security forces. Roman surveyed them with a critical eye, evaluating strengths and weaknesses. He’d speak to their trainer later today, see who was coming along well and who would need to be redirected to other tasks.

  Another conversation he would have to make time for. A million little tasks. The job was never done.

  When the last recruit crossed the line, the trainer called out for them all to run it again as Roman and
Kye slipped away. Roman heading toward another goddamn advisory meeting and Kye toward his shift on the wall. “Any sign of the Organization coming for us?” he asked the leopard as they walked.

  “Nothing. If they are planning something, they’re patient about it.”

  “Stay vigilant.”

  “We will,” Kye assured him.

  Roman nodded. He trusted Kye. Trusted his opinion. Sure as hell trusted him more than he trusted Xander, who would say whatever the hell he thought you wanted to hear. But Xander was a lieutenant and not Kye. Had Roman really had his head that far up his own ass?

  “Have you ever thought about being a lieutenant?”

  Kye probably gave himself whiplash his head whipped around so fast. “Sorry?”

  “Would it be something you’d be interested in?”

  They walked for several feet and Roman stayed quiet, well acquainted with the snow leopard’s habit of carefully selecting his words. “I’ve never really thought of myself as much of a leader, sir.”

  “You don’t have to call me sir, Kye.” A few more steps. “Does that mean you aren’t interested?”

  “I’m interested,” Kye said without the slightest hesitation. “If my skills are what you need.”

  “With the increased security, we’ll need more people we can trust at the top. I’ll speak to Greg.”

  “Whatever the Alpha thinks is best for the pride.”

  Roman heard the caution in his words. Careful not to overstep. Careful not to get his hopes up. Patch had been right. Things were far from equal. It was time that changed.

  Patch ducked into the Lion’s Den and made a beeline for the bar. At three in the afternoon, the bar was as empty as it ever got—which meant there were a good dozen shifters scattered around the room, playing pool, shooting the breeze, or getting an early start on a bender.

  She didn’t know why Santiago had wanted to meet here, but she wasn’t going to pass up the chance for a stout after the last few days. Maybe she should get started on a bender of her own. Who knew, it might clear the cobwebs out of her brain and let her think straight again.

  What had Roman said about the hard drives the other day? Too good to be true, but too tempting to resist.

  That was him, for her. She knew it was just a fantasy, an illusion—their stolen nights together—but she couldn’t seem to say no. She didn’t want to.

  Each night he would come to her. Sometimes it was fast and deliciously hard, other times slow and bone-meltingly sweet, but every time he brought her to completion over and over again until they collapsed in one another’s arms to sleep or sometimes to talk about anything and everything until just before dawn when he would sneak away.

  Completion. Such a disturbingly fitting word, because it seemed these last few days that in his arms was the only place where she felt complete.

  But it was all an illusion. A temporary fix. When they parted ways—and they would have to—she’d be just as alone as ever. Maybe more so, because she’d be excruciatingly aware of everything she was missing. No one else had ever looked at her the way Roman did. To the rest of the male population, she was still Patch the tomboy, and always would be.

  She hitched herself up onto a barstool and Whiskey looked up from the opposite end of the bar.

  “What can I get you, hon?” Roman’s ex-lover was tall, with a disgustingly perfect body. Long, toned legs and lush curves everywhere a woman should be curved—which just made Patch feel flat as an ironing board. Whiskey’s auburn hair curled around her shoulders and her eyes were the exact shade of malt whiskey—which most people thought was where she’d gotten her nickname, though, as far as Patch knew, no one knew the truth. Whiskey was known as a good listener—not one who shared her personal details easily.

  “Do you still have that stout on tap?”

  “Sure do.” An easy smile tipped her annoyingly gorgeous mouth. “One of those?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  The rich brown beer appeared in front of her.

  “Don’t often see you in here anymore,” Whiskey commented with just the right amount of interest—willing to chat if Patch needed an ear, but equally willing to leave her to her beer if that was what she wanted.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue what she wanted. “I’m meeting Santiago.”

  “Ah,” Whiskey said, non-committal, waiting.

  Patch wondered if there was a bartending class entitled How to Be the World’s Best Listener. She studied Whiskey—the low-slung jeans and lower-cut top, the funky jewelry she’d probably picked up from some exotic market in her travels. Whiskey wasn’t girly the way Lila was, but she was still feminine. Only Patch seemed to fall into the androgynous tomboy category.

  “Whiskey… Men like you.”

  The bartender snorted. “Men like beer. I’m just the delivery system.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “They like you too, honey.”

  “Sure, they like me. They just don’t want me.”

  “Ah. I see.” She tipped her head sympathetically. “Is it Santiago?”

  “No. God, no. It’s not anyone specific.” She grimaced, reaching for her beer. “It’s everyone.”

  “So it’s an overall image issue. But is the problem how they see you or how you see you?”

  “I think we all see me the same way.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “As a buddy. A pal. One of the guys.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it? Friends is a good place to start.”

  “Not if you like sex.”

  Whiskey chuckled. “So do something to remind them that you’re a girl.”

  “I’m not good at being all girlie. Some girls just exude helplessness—and I’ve seen it a million times, men will trip all over themselves to carry the heavier backpack or pitch her tent for her, because she’s this delicate little flower, but if a man tried to do that for me, I’d probably punch him. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just hate that that means they never look at me the way they look at them on the dance floor.”

  “So you don’t want a man to treat you like a little girl. Find someone to treat you like a woman.”

  She’d found him. He was already taken. “And how do I do that?”

  “No offense, but you might consider a wardrobe adjustment. These guys have seen you in hiking boots and ill-fitting jeans all the time. Once in a while, try something else. Wake them up a little bit.”

  “I’ve worn dresses before. It doesn’t wake anyone up.”

  “Because you think you look like an idiot.” Whiskey’s smile was sympathetic. “Honey, I’ve seen you when Lila forces you to play dress up. You hate every second of it. You’re constantly tugging on your hem and slouching your shoulders and hiding in corners. Frankly, it’s uncomfortable to watch.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What you need to do is go shopping. Without Lila telling you what to buy. Find something that makes you feel sexy. Maybe it’s a dress. Maybe it’s a hot pair of pants. Stiletto boots, whatever. Who cares what anyone else thinks as long as it makes you feel feminine and powerful. Come in here wearing that and it will wake them up.”

  “Wearing what?” Santiago slid onto the stool beside her and into the conversation.

  “Nothing. Some magical outfit that will alert the world to all my womanly virtues.” She took another sip as Santiago pointed to her beer and held up two fingers, sending Whiskey off to draw another pint. “What did you want to see me about?”

  “Have you seen Lila lately?”

  “Not for days. Why?”

  “It’s nothing, I just— Never mind.”

  Whiskey placed his beer in front of him and then faded away out of earshot—or at least as far as she could get without leaving the bar. With shifter hearing she could probably hear every word, but she was notoriously discrete.

  “I’m leaving the pride.”

  Patch nearly dropped her beer. “What? Santiago, you can’t be serious.”r />
  He rubbed a hand down his face and for the first time she saw the lines of exhaustion marking his pretty face. “I just can’t be here right now.”

  She leaned closer to him, lowering her voice. “Is it the stuff with the Organization? The kidnappings in the south?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I just need a change. I’m thinking maybe Seattle. There’s a firm there that’s been trying to recruit me for years.”

  Her stomach dropped. He meant it. He was already planning the logistics. “When?”

  “Soon. Maybe in a week or two. Two months from now, max. I’ll be gone before New Year’s.”

  Patch closed her eyes. Everything was changing all at once. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll keep in touch. And I still have my place.” He jerked his chin toward the western boundary, beyond which he had the gorgeous tree house he’d designed and built. “Maybe you could drop by there from time to time. Kick out any raccoons who’ve decided to play squatter.”

  “Yeah, of course.” She stared at her half-empty beer. So many changes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But I think I need to.”

  Patch lifted her glass, smothering her own selfish desire for her friend to stay. “To Seattle.”

  He clinked his glass against hers. “To Seattle.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Sir?” Grace knocked on his office door as she opened it. “Can I have a word?”

  Roman looked up from the e-mail backlog on his laptop, his focus sharpening. “Is it Adrian?”

  “Nope.” Grace closed the door. “It’s you, actually.”

  “Me?”

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, sir?”

  Roman blinked. Grace had a temper and was notorious for speaking her mind, but he’d never been on the receiving end of it before. Apparently he’d done something to piss her off. “I don’t know what you—”

  “Patch Fontaine.”

  He sucked in a breath. Shit. For a second he considered denying it, but the expression on Grace’s face wasn’t suspicion. It was utter certainty. “How did you find out?”