Sentinels: Leopard Enchanted (Harlequin Nocturne) Read online

  He stepped back from her just enough to tip her head up and hesitate the instant it took to see permission in her eyes. More than permission—request for the kiss he wanted to share. And he would have kissed her longer and deeper but he felt himself falling into her and knew better. Not here.

  Even so, they made a mutual sound of regret when they parted, and Ana’s face was flushed, her eyes bright. At least, until she stiffened, looking past him—

  Ian jerked around, seeing nothing but the back of a well-dressed man as he walked away. He’d barely turned back to Ana before she grabbed his hand, tugging slightly as she angled in the direction of the retreat. “Let’s go check on your friends,” she said, taking a step or two before Ian responded, when it was clear she meant to drop his hand and keep walking.

  He stopped her, closing his fingers around hers so she swung around to face him. “Look,” he said. “We all have our secrets. And there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. But you should know that I want to follow the hell out of what’s happening with us. And you should also know that if you need help—” he glanced back to where the man had disappeared around the corner “—any kind of help...then I’m here for that.”

  Her expression softened, not in the least hiding the distress in her eyes. “I knew that,” she said. “I think I knew it from the moment we met.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go check on your friends.”

  * * *

  The house greeted Ian with quiet...everyone sleeping again, with another round of dishes in the sink. Ian gave Ana a quick tour of the retreat’s common areas, from the sunny sitting room to the courtyard, an area of flagstone, fountains and tasteful native plantings enclosed in the front with a privacy fence and the back with tall wrought iron, leaving a full view of the mountains rising up behind them. Afterward Ana pulled out the dish soap while Ian went to peek in on everyone and left a voice mail with Ruger that amounted to call me.

  And then they tumbled into bed, where they didn’t talk about illness or enemies or bruises, but explored each other with a thoroughness that left them both limp and panting. She had a mole in the dimple over her left butt cheek. Her voice grew breathless when he kissed the hollow of collarbone and neck, and she giggled when he licked the outside curve of her ear. And from him she evoked new sensations—her tongue down his spine, the clamp of her thighs around his hips, the way she could move herself just so and just when and wring yet another shout from his throat.

  For a while they lay together, listening to the quiet of the house. No sound effects from the game room, no clinking from the kitchen, no laughter from the covered open-air dining area—not even to Sentinel ears. Then Ana rolled over to trap Ian’s leg under hers, brushing a hand over his brow. “It’s back, isn’t it?”

  The underlying ache in his head, the muddle of his mind. He didn’t have to nod to confirm it; he felt the tension of it in his face and knew she’d seen it just as clearly.

  “Me, too. Just a little.” She scraped her fingers lightly through the disarray of his hair, massaging his scalp until he wanted to groan. Or purr. Or both. “But maybe we just got dehydrated—it’s a warm day, and a dry one. Or maybe these things just come and go because that’s the way illness is.”

  “Maybe,” he said, not pretending to be convinced but fully immersed in her touch. Wanting not just to purr, but to show her the rest of himself.

  Because she wouldn’t run screaming to find a snow leopard in her bed, oh, no.

  She touched his mouth, tracing a fingertip along his lower lip. “What’s so funny?”

  “I am,” he said. “Because I don’t think a couple days of this will be nearly enough.”

  Her breath caught; her fingers stilled. “It’s not the real world, Ian. It’s vacation. It’s indulgence.” But she sounded wistful.

  He rolled over quite suddenly, pinning her, kissing her soundly, and rolling right off her again. “Doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

  She lay silent—tangled in his sheets, her hand trembling where it touched her mouth—so very well kissed, that mouth, even before his impulsive attention.

  Delicate. In more than one way. Don’t push.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, changing the subject just as abruptly as he ever did, “how about those trails?”

  “Which ones?” She still sounded a little breathless—and maybe a little reticent. “Are they even open, after that man was killed last week?”

  Ian stilled. “After what?”

  She didn’t respond immediately, and when she spoke he heard an unexpected caution. “That man on the trails. They said he got between two mountain lions in a territory spat—one of those ended up dead, too.”

  He held his silence a moment, then rolled out of bed. Too unsettled to pretend he wasn’t, with the snow leopard so close to the surface—remembering that day, that fight.

  Remembering that he’d gone looking for the man without much success—but that he hadn’t looked all that hard. There hadn’t been any blood on the ground, or the heavy scent of it in the air. At the time he’d chalked it up to the fact that he’d been pretty much on top of the attack when it happened—he’d stopped it short, and the man had quite wisely fled. There had been others approaching by then, their conversation rising uphill through the trees from a lower switchback—and Ian hadn’t wanted to be found in the area.

  But surely he hadn’t left a man to die.

  He paced over to his laptop, reached to flip it open...and didn’t, resting his hand on the case instead. Realizing that his eyes weren’t quite ready to focus, and not willing to let it show. “You’re sure? The hiker died?”

  She sat up and crossed her legs, as intent as he was. “That’s what I heard.” She watched him with a searching gaze. “I thought you’d know about it. You seemed so at home up there yesterday.”

  Left a man to die. Ian scrubbed his hands through his hair, the heels of his palms coming to rest over his eyes...pressing just a little too hard where the headache lurked. A dull throb of a thing, interlaced through his mind like a foggy lattice...making it hard to manage the duality of thinking he needed in this moment.

  She wouldn’t understand his upset. And he couldn’t explain it. He needed to distance himself from the being he’d been on that mountain, feeling the surge of power in leaping muscle, the power behind flashing claws and the crunch of sharp teeth clamping down. He needed to be Ian Scott, think tank employee on retreat who simply enjoyed hiking in the high beauty of the Sangre de Cristo mountains.

  Too late, of course. She asked, “Are you all right?” The question seemed to encompass all the things whirling around in his head, and seemed to do it with a perceptiveness he couldn’t quite reconcile.

  But then, he couldn’t quite reconcile anything about this day—other than the time he’d spent with Ana.

  “Headache,” he told her, willing to let it take the blame for all. Rather than a glance at his watch, he checked out his window—easy enough to see the last rays of the sun creeping up the side of the mountain range. “I need to check on Fernie. On everyone.” He scrounged for his jeans, foregoing the underwear...snagging a T-shirt from the back of the small desk chair. “You want anything? Ginger tea or aspirin? That’s about all we have around here.”

  “Can I help?” She patted the bed in search of her underwear.

  He found her bra on the floor and dropped it on the bed on his way past. “Not that everyone won’t be able to tell exactly what we’ve been up to—” Ian coughed, a meaningful sound.

  “Right,” she said. “They know anyway, don’t they?”

  “They don’t care,” he said. Sentinel culture was quite necessarily an earthy one, full of people who reveled in their senses and in their ability to enjoy one another. “They’ll like you. Fernie already likes you.”

  “I like her, too,” Ana said. “Let’s se
e if she’s feeling any better.”

  As it turned out, Fernie was—but she was taking a lesson from the ups and downs of the past day and keeping herself to quiet, restful activities in her tiny cottage. She’d advised the others to do the same, so Ian found them grateful for a snack but not yet ready to emerge.

  “We should do the same,” Ana said, returning to the kitchen with a tray now emptied of food. “And let’s look at the trail map. I think a short hike in the fresh air might help us both, and there must be some trails that aren’t anywhere near the spot where they found that man.” She rustled in the food—pulling out a couple of croissants, slicing them for lunch meat and dabbing on some mayo. She plated them on the tray while Ian rummaged in the remedies cupboard to add a careful dollop of Ruger’s herbal tonic to his tea mug. “Oh,” she added, an odd reluctance in her voice. “My blazer. Fernie must have brought it inside.”

  He followed her gaze through the open archway of the kitchen to the coat rack inside the door, found the blazer hanging there. “I’ll grab it if you’re worried about losing track of it. I’ve got room in my closet.”

  “Yes,” she said, tucking the sandwich makings away and appropriating the steaming tea for the tray before she picked it up to head for the back of the house. “Thanks. I guess that’s best.”

  Her lack of enthusiasm seemed like another layer of something Ian should have been able to unravel on this day of amazing moments mixed with confusion. But he was starting to get used to the muddle, so he simply finished tidying the kitchen, flicked off the lights and detoured to grab up the light linen blazer, rearranging his grip to avoid the heavy little object in one pocket.

  And then he went to be with Ana.

  Chapter 6

  Ana woke to a throbbing head and cool, rumpled sheets beside her.

  No Ian. No sound of Ian. No sight of him. His clothes were gone; his phone sat on the dresser.

  She sat, ran her hands through her hair, and very nearly flopped back down on to the pillow. Only the fact that it would jar her aching head and a glance at the bedside clock stopped her. Past nine!

  There were aspirin on the little desk, beside the food tray. And a half-full glass of water. They beckoned her.

  She slipped out of bed, realizing then that she wore one of Ian’s colorful T-shirts and nothing else. Remembering that they’d returned to this room the evening before, eaten the light dinner and watched a sensationalist nature documentary that amused Ian more than not.

  She’d been so aware of herself, cuddled beside him. As if every inch of skin knew of his presence and responded to it, her mouth pleasantly bruised from his kisses and every sensitive part of her body remembering his touch. She couldn’t have been more comfortable beneath the weight of his arm, her head propped on his chest to catch the beat of his heart and the gentle rise and fall of his breath.

  She hadn’t been surprised when he’d flicked off the show and curled up around her, spooning snugly enough so she’d felt encompassed in a new way. Safe in a new way.

  Able to sleep in perfect confidence.

  So where was he now?

  She squelched a little spear of hurt. Ian was a complicated man—a busy man. The surprise wasn’t that he’d slipped out to do something around the retreat—it was that he’d spent so much time with her already.

  Ana tossed back two aspirin and gulped down the rest of the water, ignoring the faint unease in her stomach. Her underwear was around here somewhere; she flipped the sheets over without finding it, then twitched them back into place, smoothing and folding the knitted spread at the base of the bed. Perhaps underneath...

  Her ringtone gave a muted peal, buried somewhere and set to low. She glanced around the room and finally spotted her blazer, pushing it aside to find her purse beneath.

  Of course it was Lerche. Her few friends didn’t have this particular number. She accepted the call just in time.

  “Can you talk?” he demanded without preamble. “If not, get somewhere that you can.”

  “I’m fine here,” she said, but kept her voice to a murmur. Sentinels, she knew, had keener hearing than most. Than all.

  “Report!” And then he didn’t give her a chance. “What’s happening with the second amulet? The first is giving us nothing but kitchen noises. The second is giving us little at all. If you’ve failed in planting them properly, you’ll need to relocate—”

  She took a bold chance, interrupting him. “It’s in his private room,” she said, looking at the blazer and failing to add that the spy amulet was completely muffled within her pocket, not to mention that it had only arrived here after their conversation—and lovemaking—had made way for the ridiculous documentary.

  “Oh?” The single word sounded startled but also surprisingly pleased—given how little the location had yielded so far. And surprisingly neutral when he added, “I suppose you’re still whoring yourself to him there.”

  She said, as steadily as she could, “I’m doing my best to fulfill the needs of this mission.”

  “And going above and beyond in ways I never imagined of you.” His voice regained some of its cutting edge, but still held that hint of satisfaction.

  “It would help if the posse kept its distance,” she told him, dredging up the courage for it. If he took it as implied criticism of his management, he wouldn’t forget it. “Ian isn’t dulled by his time in his lab, whatever they think—he’s got Sentinel instincts, and he trusts them. A lot more than he’s going to trust me if this keeps up.”

  “It won’t take much longer,” Lerche said, cryptically enough. “You just play your role. And in the end, remember that you chose it.”

  He hung up on her, leaving her staring at the phone and trying to make sense of him—his moods, his implications, his underlying threat.

  A gentle knock on the door startled her far out of proportion to the moment; she fumbled the phone and jammed it into her purse, although there wasn’t a thing wrong with making a personal call. “Ian?” she asked, even as she realized he wouldn’t knock on his own door.

  “It’s Fernie. I brought you some breakfast.”

  Ana looked down at herself, glancing around the room as if a robe might magically manifest itself, and finally snatching the light throw from the end of the bed to drape over her shoulders as she opened the door.

  Fernie stood with a serving tray in hand, a smile in place. She wore a fresh housedress but hadn’t put her hair up or applied any daily makeup; her face looked tired, but her eyes were bright enough. She let herself in, nudging the evening’s tray aside to place the breakfast—bowls of homemade granola, fruit and two cups of steaming tea.

  When she looked up, her smile faded. “Where’s Ian?”

  “I thought—” Ana stalled out on bafflement. “I thought he was out in the house. Helping.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” Fernie said, gathering up the used tray. “I didn’t get up until nearly eight, myself.” She shook her head at this. “We’re a sorry excuse for a retreat right now, all of us!”

  “Are you feeling better this morning?” Ana crossed her arms over the throw, letting it enfold her. If Ian wasn’t in this house, she shouldn’t be here, either. Just let the aspirin kick in...

  Fernie shook her head. “Such a strange thing. I rest, I feel better, I get up to do some chores and feed some people and bam! I’m right back in bed. I’m beginning to think we picked up a mold with the summer rains.” She gave Ana a sharp eye. “You don’t look so good this morning, either, Ian’s girl.”

  Ian’s girl. Ana swallowed the guilt of the phone call. “I don’t feel so well. But that’s not surprising. I’ve been with Ian on and off for days, and I’ve been here, too.”

  “You’ve been good for him,” Fernie said, giving her a closer look—an unabashed one. Ana keenly felt the absence of her underwear. “I hope he’s been g
ood for you, too. I hope he’s told you that no woman deserves whoever put those bruises on your face.”

  Ana gasped, realizing she’d been caught without makeup over the bruises, one hand clutching the knitted throw even more tightly and one flying to her jaw. It was much less sore today, and she’d hoped the bruises would be gone.

  Fernie offered her a tight smile. “It’s the reason they gave me this job,” she said. “I meddle. Now have something to eat and get yourself dressed, and I’ll see if I can’t scare up Ian.”

  But Fernie couldn’t scare up Ian—and a call to his phone revealed it to be on the desk beside his laptop. By the time Ana had shaken out her clothes and climbed back into her pants, appropriating another of Ian’s T-shirts, Fernie was on her way back down the hall. Ana hesitated with the blazer in hand and then quickly flipped it out, doubled it and folded it tightly with the listening device in the center, tucking it against the wall behind the door.

  She met Fernie at the door, tray in hand and headache somewhat ameliorated by the aspirin. Fernie didn’t wait for her query. “This isn’t like him,” she said. “This isn’t anything like him. Did something happen yesterday?”

  Ana floundered, frowning and unable to think of a thing. “He’s worried about you...he doesn’t seem to feel as though he’s done enough to help.”

  “Typical.” Fernie frowned, giving Ana the most direct look. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that phone call I overheard, does it? Could it?”

  Ana froze, instantly trying to recall what she’d said—knowing it was certainly enough to indict her as far as Fernie was concerned, but reasonably certain she’d said nothing to reveal her Core affiliation. With utmost care, she said, “Not as far as I know.”

  Fernie said, “We’ll talk about that later, then.” She tipped her head at Ana, her expression somehow reminiscent of a satisfied mother bear. “Like I said, I meddle. But first, we need to find Ian.”