Three to Get Ready Read online

  “We need to get this to a computer.”

  They turned to search for anything else that might reveal where Benson had gone, or why he was in D.C., but the sound of approaching footsteps had them stiffening in alarm.

  Without warning, Nael grabbed her hand and tugged her across the room. He paused only long enough to shove one of the windows open and urge her through. Miranda’s heart was slamming against her chest, but she jumped and ran. By the time the guard reached the study, they were sprinting for the brick fence.

  Five minutes later, they were off the estate altogether and power-walking toward the end of the block. When Nael turned the corner, she expected him to stop, reassess. Instead, his pace increased to a brisk jog.

  “Nael.” She went after him, and with a burst of speed she came up next to him. “Hey! Stop! Where are you going?”

  His eyes were narrowed, taking in every movement around him, every human face, but he didn’t slow. “To my car.”

  She frowned, easily keeping pace with him. “And then what?”

  Rounding another corner, he came to an abrupt halt beside a gleaming black Mercedes.

  “To a safe house,” he told her, leaning forward to pull out a set of keys from his pocket. He stabbed at a button on the fob.

  She frowned as he pulled open the passenger door of the Mercedes.

  “And I’m just expected to what?” she demanded. “Go with you?”

  He sent her a startled glance, as if he’d just assumed she’d want to jump into the luxury car and race off to some hotel with him.

  No doubt because that’s what most females did.

  Not that she could blame them. The man was charismatic and startling handsome—not to mention intelligent, powerful and an amazing kisser.

  She clenched her teeth at such foolish, dangerous thoughts. Stay in your lane, Miranda. Remember what you’re doing here.

  Nael slowly straightened. “It’s your choice, Miranda. Come with me. Or don’t.”

  Though he said the words with a casual air, his hungry eyes and tight jaw told a different story. He wanted her to go with him. She was willing to bet, almost to the point of desperation. And yet, he wasn’t grabbing her hand this time and hauling her into the passenger seat.

  Why?

  “Really?” she said, her tone laced with distrust. “So, that’s it?”

  The power of his cat darkened those hungry eyes, and a warm musk snaked its way over, exotically wrapping around her. Making her shiver. But he didn’t touch her. With an obvious effort, he kept command of his composure.

  “I asked you to be my partner. Not my prisoner.”

  Miranda inhaled sharply at the words. There was something strange and almost frighteningly honest in their quiet power. So many times in the past year, she’d been lied to, manipulated, manhandled. And with no one left, no true friends or family, it was what she’d come to expect from everyone. Hell, she could hear lies in people’s voices now. It was a gift. Courtesy of Christopher Benson.

  She stared at the man before her, and felt her insides and her fear and her anger and her hunger for Benson’s spilled blood…defrost slightly. Shit. How was this happening? How was it even possible?

  Weakness in any respect disgusted her. Especially her own. And yet…

  “So I can just walk away and you won’t try to stop me?” she tested.

  He stared at her, his jaw so tight she was afraid it might snap. Then suddenly, he leapt. Flew over the car like a…a…cat, and landed directly in front of her, his back to the passenger door.

  “Hell yes,” he said in a low, quiet growl. “I’ll try to stop you.”

  “I knew it,” she said, nearly breathless and almost relieved. He’d failed the test. He was like everyone else.

  Run. Turn around and run. Get away from this guy and never look back. Focus on your mission, your goal, your need for Benson’s head on a pike.

  But her feet wouldn’t move. It was like they were affixed to the ground. Instead, her head was tilting back! As if inviting his kiss!

  “But not because I want to force you to stay with me, Miranda,” he rasped, reaching out to brush his fingers down the vulnerable curve of her throat. “I want you to come with me because you want to, and because you can’t imagine walking away.”

  Even as her mind warned her not to listen, warned her to run from this man, she remained, her breath tangled in her throat. The dominance of his sensual magnetism was far more powerful than her rational mind.

  “Not fair,” she uttered not only to him, but to herself.

  His eyes softened. “Attraction rarely is.”

  Is that was this was? This pull from her heart to his? This dire need she had to know what his lips would feel like on her skin?

  Attraction?

  It seemed too tame a word.

  “Are you coming?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  She heaved a small sigh. Her options were limited.

  She could try to pick up Benson’s trail. Or keep a watch on the house and hope he returned.

  Or she could go with Nael and discover exactly what was hidden on the thumb drive.

  She placed her hand in his. “I’m coming.”

  Chapter Five

  Nael took the maze of side streets to head toward the downtown area, acutely aware of the female seated just inches away. The female who crossed and uncrossed her legs every few minutes, making him crazy. The female whose long dark hair was scented of lavender. His cat’s favorite.

  He refused to acknowledge that he was acting like a lunatic. That he’d broken several rules, both self-made, and Pantera Security League fine print. He’d allowed a strange female to join him on his hunt for the asset. And now he was taking her back to his private rooms with every intention of sharing the information he managed to download from the flash drive.

  If Raph knew, Nael would be cut off and cut out in a heartbeat.

  He wrinkled his nose, trying to rid it of the luscious lavender scent that just wanted to crawl up his nostrils and remain, and pulled the car to a halt next to the curb. Per usual, he liked to be parked where he could easily access the vehicle and take off without waiting for a valet.

  Stepping out, he found Miranda already standing at his side before he could round the car to open her door. Her gaze moved toward the historic building constructed from mellowed bricks and tall windows. In the front was a long awning that shaded the double glass doors and waiting doorman.

  There was nothing fancy about the place, but there was an air of old-world elegance that was unmistakable.

  “This is your safe house?” she demanded.

  He reached out to lightly grasp her elbow, steering her toward the front doors. The doorman scrambled to escort them into the black-and-white-tiled lobby, tipping his cap when Nael handed him a nice wad of money.

  He’d discovered a long time ago that he achieved far more by currying the favor of ordinary workers than those in positions of power.

  They were the ones who made the wheels turn in any city. Plus, they knew the dirty secrets and where an enemy was the most vulnerable.

  “We don’t own the building, but we do have an apartment here,” he told her, nodding toward the security officer, who was recruited by the Pantera, and was standing in a shadowed corner keeping guard over his domain with an eagle gaze.

  Nael urged her toward the bank of elevators. Stepping into an open carriage, he pulled out his keycard and placed it into the slot that would allow him to hit the button for the top floor.

  “Don’t tell me,” she muttered. “That apartment you own is the penthouse.”

  The silver doors slid shut and the elevator smoothly headed upward. Nael turned to tuck a lovely, dark strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the smooth satin of her cheek. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Most of us beasts appreciate the finer things in life.” His voice was a low growl, his cat purring at the delicious feel of her soft flesh. He wanted a bite. “Is that so wrong?”
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  An unexpected flush stained her cheeks. A heated silence sizzled between them. But, even as an urgent need to taste her lips again thundered through Nael, the elevator came to an abrupt halt and the doors slid open.

  Muttering a frustrated curse, he led Miranda across the small foyer. Using his keycard, he had them inside the penthouse and the door closed and locked before she could have second thoughts. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her that he’d do whatever was necessary to keep her close.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said, heading across the sitting room that looked like something out of a palace.

  There was leather furniture, molded ceilings, expensive artwork on the cream walls and handwoven rugs on the polished marble floor. And beneath the large windows was a desk where he’d already set up his computer.

  He always stayed at this safe house when he was in D.C. Not just because it was one of the best, but because the owner of the building owed him a favor. That ensured he had all the privacy he desired when he stayed.

  He sensed Miranda approaching as he slotted the flash drive into the port. Inside, his cat pressed against his skin. The animal wasn’t concerned with tracking down Benson. Not with the luscious scent of the female it wanted filling his senses.

  Nael struggled to concentrate, leaning down to open the thumb drive. Instantly, a warning screen popped up.

  “Shit.”

  Miranda moved to press against his side. “What’s wrong?”

  “The drive is password protected,” he said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “I expected it, but it’s still a bitch and a half.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “My computer is loaded with a special program that will break through the security,” he told her, hoping that Xavier’s decoding software was as good as he claimed.

  Once he had the program running, he straightened, turning to meet Miranda’s wary gaze.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  A slow smile curved his lips. “Now we wait.”

  Chapter Six

  Miranda would never have expected the ‘waiting’ to consist of a scrounge through the safe house’s fancy fridge, custom pantry and small wine cabinet for foodstuffs.

  But Nael was unpredictable that way.

  And she liked it.

  Unfortunately.

  “Hungry?”

  His deep, husky voice moved over her like a silk sheet, and she shivered.

  “I know I am,” he added.

  She glanced up at him through her dark lashes. The gorgeous Pantera shifter was standing across his massive gray marble and steel island in the safe house’s ultra-modern kitchen, stirring red sauce and boiling water for pasta.

  He was making her dinner.

  Well, technically, he was making dinner for the both of them, but it was still an epic moment for her. No man had ever made her a meal—unless she counted the barely thawed dog-food-like substance one of the guards slipped through the bars of her cell three times a day.

  And she didn’t.

  During their scrounge, Nael had mentioned a few cooking tutorials he’d received in Northern Italy the previous summer from a very fascinating woman.

  When he’d said that last bit, Miranda had felt a sharp, quick pang of something she didn’t recognize. And frankly, didn’t want to examine further.

  She needed to watch herself, and her reactions to this male. She needed to remember why she was here, and what her plans were after she left.

  “Wine?” He eased a glass of the dark red liquid toward her. “My cat has a real hard-on for this one.”

  But he wasn’t making it easy.

  “Your cat?” she repeated, instantly curious. “So you know what it thinks? What it feels? What it…likes?”

  “Of course.”

  For one moment, his gaze caught and held hers, a flash of fire beneath the cool blue, then he broke the connection, and dropped the contents of the box of pasta in his hand into the boiling water. He gave it a stir with a wooden spoon.

  “It takes time though. And focus. I started feeling it, feeling the separation of it and me, around…maybe twelve years old. We truly became two minds at fourteen.”

  Miranda stared at him, amazed. She couldn’t imagine being a child and feeling someone else in her head—

  “Have you felt yours yet?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t born a shifter, remember? I was given the blood of one. An experiment to see what would happen, or how I could be best used.” Her nostrils flared as visions of her years in that cage blinked within her mind. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have a cat inside of me. And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want one.”

  Nael lifted the wine glass to his lips and took a healthy swallow. “Well, you definitely have the characteristics. Speed, strength, agility…”

  She laughed, a soft, bitter sound, then turned to look out the one massive wall of window. “I guess I got something out of that nightmare. But it wasn’t a cat in my head.”

  “You want to tell me about it?” he asked in a gentle voice, a voice that attempted to wrap around her like a soft blanket.

  Miranda’s body tensed at the question, and she didn’t say a word, just continued to stare out the window. Share? Her thoughts and feelings? Was he serious?

  Her hand lifted, came to rest on the scar at the collarbone. Covering it. Protecting it. Soothing it.

  Were there days she wanted to emotionally vomit on someone, release everything, every memory, every sensation, every vow for justice and payback?

  Fuck yes.

  But those nightmares had to remain hers and hers alone. Forget trusting Nael, she couldn’t trust herself—couldn’t trust the anger inside of her. All of that needed to stay locked away, for everyone’s safety.

  Except for Benson’s.

  When she finally saw that bastard’s face again—no bars between them this time—she would release all that was buried inside of her.

  As she wrapped her hands around his neck and squeezed.

  “You know you can trust me,” Nael said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Her lips twitched with dark humor as she turned to face him once again. This back and forth was getting way too personal. From the wine and the cooking for her, to the ‘make herself at home.’ Shit, she didn’t even know what that word meant. Unless he was talking about a steel cage in a windowless warehouse. She needed to keep her head on straight, and not confuse the situation with anything resembling romance.

  “Tell me about the asset,” she demanded, pushing the wine glass back toward him.

  He grinned softly at the gesture. “I don’t know much. Never do.” He placed a thin slice of pecorino cheese between his teeth.

  Miranda watched, annoyed at herself, yet oddly dumbstruck. His lips were perfect. Full and powerful, and had felt so wonderfully hungry against her own.

  Idiot.

  She growled inwardly at herself.

  “I only know that Benson has the person imprisoned,” he continued.

  “You do this a lot?” she asked, forcing herself to focus. “Find the…”

  “Unlucky ones?” he offered.

  Sudden, almost sharp heat flashed inside her chest at his words. Well, the one word. “Unlucky?”

  He shrugged, nonchalant. “It’s what they are. Unlucky, unfortunate…escaping Benson and his crew is a nearly impossible task.”

  “You’re telling me,” she said sharply.

  He didn’t say anything. Just turned off the burners and placed a lid on the saucepot. When he finally looked up again, his eyes found hers and he studied her for a moment. “How long were you caged?”

  A vise gripped her heart, made her throat feel tight. “Don’t you mean, how long was I unlucky?”

  “How long?” he pressed, gently.

  Her gaze held his. She knew all that he saw there, and she hated herself for it. Masking her emotions around this man—this male—was so difficult. “What does it matter?�
� She threw away the words.

  But he wasn’t having any of it. “Miranda.”

  She would wonder about it later. If she’d truly heard what she’d thought she heard in his voice as he’d said her name. But in that moment, it was as if his cat had commanded her to speak.

  And she couldn’t refuse it.

  “Seven years,” she said on a released breath.

  “Jesus…”

  “Seven years of hell on earth. Okay? Can we stop talking about it now?”

  His face was altering before her eyes. The gorgeous, calm mask of control shifting into an expression that bordered on rage. “No wonder you want him dead,” he ground out.

  She sniffed. “It’s not about me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The need to see him gone from this earth. It’s not for me.”

  She inhaled sharply. Christ, what was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she shut up and leave it alone? Why did she keep giving him more—

  “Who is it for then?” Nael demanded on a growl. “Was there someone else? You had a male that Benson—”

  “No. No.” She shook her head, cutting him off. Fuck it. He was not going to let up, and she couldn’t seem to stop this train from crashing. She reached for the glass she’d abandoned earlier and chugged half the wine. When she set it down again, she said, “I was okay in that cage. I was strong. I could’ve survived it. Hell, I did survive it. But she—”

  “She?”

  Miranda shook her head, her throat so tight it was painful. “Don’t you understand? Of course you don’t. How could you?” She sounded insane, yet couldn’t stop. “It should’ve been me. I would’ve fought back. I would’ve…”

  “Goddess, tell me, Miranda,” he urged fiercely. “I swear I can help you.”

  Oh, if only…if only he’d have been there when May wouldn’t stop crying after the injections, and Benson’s guards were determined to shut her up.

  In that moment, a wave of misery so thick and heavy threatened to drown her.