Читать книгу Taming the Moon - Sherrill Quinn - Страница 7

Olivia prowled around the back yard of the swanky town house, taking particular care to be quiet so the werewolf inside wouldn’t hear her. She tried to find a way in and cursed under her breath at being thwarted. Damn. Cops were the same world-over. This guy’s place was buttoned up tighter than the White House.

Or, since she was in London, maybe Buckingham Palace was a more appropriate analogy.

She’d already lost almost twenty-four hours of her seven-day reprieve getting from New York to London and waiting outside New Scotland Yard for a glimpse of DCI Sullivan and the chance to follow him home. He’d finally come out, looking as pissed as hell and, interestingly enough, flagged down a taxi instead of driving off in an unmarked police car as she’d thought he’d do.

She’d grabbed a taxi of her own and followed him, having the driver pull over a few houses up from where Sully got out. Thankfully Sully was so preoccupied with his current…predicament that he hadn’t noticed he’d been followed.

When she had first gotten out of the taxi she’d seen him glance her way. She’d quickly turned so he wouldn’t see her face, her heart beating fast. Her citrus-based perfume would mask her scent, so he wouldn’t be able to smell her as another werewolf.

She had to act like she belonged in the neighborhood, so she’d walked down the short sidewalk to a nearby town house as if it was hers—thankful no one poked their head out asking what she was about, loitering around their front door.

While they were both outside, her enhanced werewolf hearing had allowed her to listen in on his phone conversation, even from three doors down. As soon as she’d heard him making plans to leave the country, she knew she had to act.

If she didn’t get him now, she’d lose at least another day or two waiting to get him once he got to Arizona. She paused, peering into a downstairs window.

It looked like some sort of home office. A big mahogany desk took up one side of the room, a comfy sofa on the wall facing it, and book-lined shelves made of the same dark-hued wood. She didn’t know much about Rory Sullivan, but she recognized that he had money.

Hell, the fact that he lived in one of those old town houses made her think he had oodles of money. Probably old money, but who knew? There were a lot of nouveaux riches in the world these days, even with the uncertainties in the stock markets in the last couple years.

God, what would her life have been like had she had this kind of money? Instead of living in a modest apartment in the Bronx, she and Zoe might have been living large in the East Village or Gramercy. At the very least, she probably wouldn’t have been turned into a werewolf, so anything different would be an improvement.

Now’s not the time, Liv. She pushed away the feeling of despair at her current situation, remorse at what she was being forced to do—and, yes, jealousy at Sully’s good fortune—and focused once again on a way to get to him.

Thirty minutes later she heaved a sigh of defeat. She could break in, but he’d hear her and be prepared for a fight. Before, when he was human, she would have been twice as strong as him. If she hadn’t been interrupted by O’Connell, the job would have been finished in the Isles of Scilly. Without the element of surprise on her side, she had a slim-to-none chance of defeating him.

Now that he was a werewolf he was stronger and faster than her, so it would be better if she could avoid a fight. She couldn’t afford to be wounded—or worse. Zoe’s life depended on her mother murdering this man.

An innocent man. A good man.

Someone Olivia might have liked to have called “friend.”

A light flicked on inside the study. Sully walked in, head down, brow furrowed. She caught her breath and moved to one side of the window, slowly so as to not draw his attention.

My God, but he’s handsome. She swallowed and tried to control the primeval reaction of her body to the superior specimen of male. Over six feet of lean muscle, symmetrical features, and glittering green eyes took her breath away.

She’d never been introduced to him, but she’d observed him while he was staying at that little bed and breakfast on the island of St. Mary’s.

And she’d tasted his blood. His flesh.

So on some level she felt she knew him.

He was more than just his looks. He was a staunch defender of the innocent, and a man who saw things in black and white.

She bit her lip. Wasn’t he going to be surprised at just how gray things in his life had gotten? Looking at the expression on his face, at the dispirited look in his eyes, she thought perhaps not. It seemed as though he may have already had a lesson or two.

She could only hope he hadn’t yet mastered control of the wolf, for it was on his lack of control she had to pin her hopes of destroying him.

Olivia blinked back tears. God in heaven, how had she gotten to a point where she was willing to take someone’s life?

The answer was simple. It was all about Zoe.

Olivia would do anything—anything—to protect her little girl. Even if it meant going against everything she believed in.

But she had to do it smart. That meant not attacking him where he was comfortable, where the advantage was his. That meant getting him off on his own someplace where the chances of being interrupted again were slim.

That meant she had to keep her focus on the task at hand and not on his body. Or his face. Or those big hands that, at the moment, were clenched at his sides.

Big hands that she wouldn’t mind feeling on her skin.

Stop it! She tried to ignore the frisson of arousal that tightened her core, made her clit throb with insistent heat. There was no future for them, of any sort. Because in under six days’ time, one way or another, he’d be dead.

Or she would be. But then what would happen to Zoe?

No, she couldn’t fail. It had to be Sullivan.

So, what was she going to do? Sit in his back yard like a dog, or hop a plane and beat him back to the States?

There was only one thing she could do. Wherever Rory Sullivan went, she would go, too.

She began plotting her next moves. She would do a search on the Internet for Declan O’Connell’s address and get to Arizona before Sully did. Hell, if she couldn’t locate O’Connell, she’d camp out at the airport and wait for Sully to show up. She could follow him and at the first opportunity take him out in the relative isolation of the desert. Whatever it took to make it happen, she would do it.

“Tucson, here I come,” she whispered and quietly made her way around the house to the front. Once she was far enough away that she was sure he wouldn’t hear her, she broke into a run to the closest main street and flagged down a taxi.

The next evening, Sully watched the passing scenery from the backseat of Declan’s Mustang as they made their way from the airport. They’d already been on the road for thirty minutes. “I’d no idea you lived so far from town,” he commented.

“We haven’t technically left the city.” Declan brought the car to a stop at a traffic light. “This is still part of Tucson.”

The mountains to the north were closer, and Sully found himself envying Declan—however briefly—for the chance to live with such raw beauty all around him. The bright blue sky contrasted with the craggy slag heaps, and the desert floor held cacti and other plants flowering in yellows, purples, and oranges.

Still, he’d called London home for over twenty years. This place, while beautiful, was too quiet. Too untamed.

As if to prove his point, a scrawny-looking dog crossed the road to his right.

“Coyote.” Pelicia twisted in the passenger seat. She glanced back at Declan. “Right?” At his nod she looked at Sully. “They’re all over the place out here, Declan says. That and javelina—they’re somewhat like pigs—bobcats…oh, and let’s not forget the rattlesnakes and scorpions,” she added with a sidelong glance at Declan. “Declan showed me my first rattlesnake yesterday while we were out for a walk.”

“What did he do, point to himself in a mirror?” Sully muttered.

“For God’s sake, boyo, let it go.” Declan shot him a dark glance over his shoulder. As he turned forward again the light turned green. He drove through the intersection. “What’s done is done. You need to deal with it. Besides,” he went on in a blithe tone, “no snakes have gotten into the house, and the scorpions are usually dead by the time we find them.” He laughed at Pelicia’s little roll of her eyes and cupped his right hand behind her head, beneath the single plait of blond hair that rested against her back.

Sully saw his fingers stroke behind her ear, and the two shared a look that made envy curl around his gut.

The image of a woman with long, dark hair and a sexy ass flitted into his mind. Along with it came the remembered scent he associated with her—light citrus mixed with warm woman. Damn. He should’ve followed that woman by his terrace house in London, at least gotten her phone number.

So you could…what? Have her over for dinner some night à la Hannibal Lecter?

He scowled and folded his arms over his chest.

Declan met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Anyway, you might find there are some advantages now when it comes to doin’ your job.”

“Advantages on the job, you say?” Sully shifted in his seat and raised his eyebrows. “You mean, like I can run faster?”

“Aye.”

“And see more clearly and at farther distances?” He kept his tone even with an effort.

Declan nodded.

“And that my senses of smell and hearing are better?”

Declan glanced around with a slight frown as if Sully’s too-sedate tone was finally getting through to him. “Aye,” he drawled slowly.

“And try to rip out the throat of my suspect and so perhaps lose said job?” Sully clamped his jaws together against the howl of rage threatening to break free. Regardless that the Chief had sent him on a personal leave rather than an administrative one, the outcome could still be the same.

He could be sacked.

If he couldn’t be a cop…He drew in a breath. Serving at the Yard was all he knew. If he couldn’t be a cop, he didn’t know what else to do. Going home to his family’s estate was out of the question, though he knew his mother would love for him to come home. But living the life of a rich, pampered sot wasn’t for him.

Making a difference in people’s lives by getting bad guys off the street—that was what he was all about.

“That happened because you haven’t yet learned how to control the wolf.” Declan didn’t bother to hide the irritated growl in his deep voice. “If you’d listened to me in the first place—”

“It was because I listened to you in the first place”—Sully leaned forward—“that I’m in this fucking mess.” He slumped in his seat. “Never mind,” he muttered, interrupting Declan’s retort and avoiding Pelicia’s gaze. He didn’t want to make her feel any guiltier over what had happened to him than she already did. “Just”—he met Declan’s gaze in the rearview mirror—“tell me that when I go home in six weeks I won’t be trying to eat my suspects.”

“You won’t be tryin’ to eat your suspects.”

Pelicia twisted again in her seat, her gaze bright with compassion mingled with lingering remorse. She said in a quiet voice, “This is something you can learn to live with, Sully. Once you’ve learned how to control your emotions, you’ll see a marked difference in your reaction to things.”

Sully gave a nod. That he’d have to wait and see about.

“Here we are.” Declan turned the car onto a gravel driveway, winding between tall green cacti with arms and smaller purple cacti with flat, circular appendages. “I’ve put you in the guesthouse—reckoned you’d want some time alone, and some space—but you’re more than welcome to stay with us in the main house if you’d prefer.”

“The guesthouse is fine.” Preferable, truth be told. With a sense of wonder Sully took in the sprawling adobe house with its southwestern architecture. So very alien compared to what he was used to in London. “This is…different.”

Pelicia grinned and opened the door. As she got out of the car she said, “Yes, we don’t see much of this style of house in England, do we?” She pulled the lever to move the seat forward so Sully could climb out of the back.

“No, we don’t.” Arms above his head, Sully stretched, working kinks out of his muscles brought on by the nearly forty-five minute ride. So many new smells—predominantly one of citrus. He glanced around and saw two lemon trees at one side of the house.

“So?” Declan walked around to the boot of the car and popped the lid. “What do you think? I mean, I realize it’s not the same as the stately old manor house you grew up in, but—”

“Shut it.” Sully took the big suitcase Declan handed to him. Looking at the gravel, he realized he’d be better off carrying the thing rather than trying to wheel it over the uneven surface.

“The guesthouse is this way.” Pelicia took his small overnight case from the boot and started around one side of the house.

Sully obediently fell in line behind her, aware of Declan bringing up the rear with a third suitcase, smaller than the one Sully carried.

“You brought more luggage than a woman,” Declan muttered.

“Shut it.” Sully wasn’t in the mood to listen to the Irish version of the Mad Hatter. “I brought what I needed.”

“Even Pelicia didn’t bring this much crap with her, and she’s stayin’ three months before she has to get back to Scilly and wrap things up there.”

Before Sully could tell him to shut up for a third time, Pelicia looked over her shoulder. “Declan, stop it.”

“Stop what?” His voice was all innocence.

“You know very well what. You’re trying to rile Sully, so just stop it. Let the man rest from his journey before you throw him headlong into a training session.” Her pretty lips bowed down, and she shook her head in an age-old feminine gesture of irritation. Without waiting for either man to respond, she said, “Here we are.” She took a key from her pocket and unlocked the red door of the small guesthouse.

Sully followed her inside. Setting down the suitcase, he gazed around the room. The front door opened directly into a living room with a plump leather sofa sitting in front of a beehive fireplace, a large flat-screen TV, and various pieces of Native American pottery on the built-in bookshelf beside it.

The room was decorated in warm beiges and dark reds, giving it a calming effect and making him feel like he was home. The stress of travel—the endless tension of being surrounded by humanity first in busy airports and then on crowded flights—began to fade. All he needed was a few hours to himself and then he’d feel…

He stifled a snort of disgust. He would never feel like himself again, not with this thing now a part of him, this beast that roared with fury and hunger.

He turned his attention to the other side of the fireplace, where a set of French doors let in the early evening sunlight. He wandered over and looked through the glass. A cobbled patio with a table and chairs and, beyond that, a small flower garden enclosed on all sides by bushes covered in white and dark pink blooms.

“Oleanders,” Pelicia murmured at his side. When he glanced at her, she made a gesture toward the outdoors and explained, “The bushes that line the yard are oleanders. Declan told me they’re poisonous, so don’t try to eat them.”

He raised one brow. “Don’t eat the bushes. I’ll try to remember that. Thanks.”

She smacked him lightly on the arm. “You and Declan are both a couple of smartasses. No wonder you get on so well together.”

“Hmm.” Sully wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

“You do.” Pelicia put her hand on his arm. Her blue eyes earnest, she said in a soft voice, “For what it’s worth, if you hadn’t been there, that wolf might have attacked me. You saved my life.”

He grimaced. “So…all I did was get in the way, is that what you’re saying? It wasn’t anything I did on purpose.”

“No, I’m not saying that at all.”

Unable to maintain a serious expression, he grinned.

She smacked him on the arm again. “See? A smartass, just like O’Connell.”

“Hey. And here I was thinkin’ you liked my ass.” Declan walked over to them.

She just rolled her eyes again. Turning around to face the living room, she pointed at a doorway on the right. “The bedroom and en suite bathroom are through there, and there’s a small kitchen on the other side of that wall.” She motioned toward an opening on the left of the living room. “Though we do insist you take your meals with us.”

“Of course.” Sully picked up the largest of the suitcases and started toward the bedroom. He paused in the doorway and looked back at his friends. “I think I’ll have a short lie down, if that’s all right.”

“That’s fine.” Pelicia’s voice was soothing. “We’ll have a late dinner at eight p.m.” She grinned. “Well, that’s a normal time for me, but late for Americans. That gives you”—she glanced at her wristwatch—“three hours to get situated. It’ll be dark in about an hour and a half or so, but the walkway is lighted.”

“Ah, he won’t need lights, darlin’.” Declan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. “Remember?”

A light blush moved under the fair skin of her cheeks. “Oh. Right.” She looked at Sully with apology reflected in her eyes. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t start with that again. It wasn’t your fault.” When she opened her mouth, he forestalled her by raising one hand. “I’m fine. I ate at the airport during my layover, so dinner at eight is fine, too.”

God, three hours to be by himself. He didn’t know if he should be happy or panic at the idea of being alone again with his thoughts.

“Okay, then.” Declan walked over to him and put one hand on his shoulder, giving a slight squeeze. “It’ll be all right, mate. Trust me.”

Sully lifted his chin in acknowledgment but didn’t say anything.

Declan gave another squeeze, then he and Pelicia left the guesthouse, closing the door softly behind them.

“He seems so…bereft,” Sully heard Pelicia say, her sweet voice holding a wealth of worry.

“He’ll be fine.” Declan’s voice held no doubt.

Sully wished he could be as sure.

He stood there in the doorway of the bedroom, holding onto his suitcase like some bloody befuddled bellman. With an oath he dropped it in the doorway and flopped onto the bed, legs hanging over the edge, feet flat on the floor. He closed his eyes but couldn’t slow his swirling mind.

The need to move, to try to escape his thoughts, rushed through him. His skin prickled, the hairs standing straight up on his arms and the back of his neck. His jaws began to ache, his eyes burned.

Deep, deep inside the wolf howled to be set free.

Sully surged up off the bed, toed off his shoes, and yanked off his socks. He tossed aside his clothing with an urgency that made his hands shake.

Even though the next full moon was still two weeks away, he felt the pull as surely as if it were bright in the sky. Declan had said that could happen, but Sully hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. He was still human, still a man. He wasn’t ruled by his beast—he would be able to control any desire to set the wolf free.

But, at that moment, he couldn’t fight it.

He didn’t want to fight it.

He wanted—needed—to be as wild as he felt.

Bones began to shift. Some lengthened, others shortened, all drawing muscles, cartilage, and ligaments into their new forms. Sully fell to his hands and knees, agony screaming through every cell, his breath rasping in his throat as, against his primeval instincts, the part of him still human fought against the change.

In the span of a heartbeat, fur sprouted over his skin. One more and his shuddering transformation to wolf was complete.

After a few seconds, waiting for the pain to fade, he lifted his head. So much clearer now.

Smells, stronger. One in particular. His nose twitched. What was that? He bent and sniffed at one leg. Whatever the smell was—kind of woodsy with underlying scents of pine and citrus—it emanated from him.

He lifted his head and padded into the living room. Stopping in front of the patio doors, he stared through the glass. A hummingbird fluttered near the bushes. Sully could see the edge of every tiny feather, the flutter of its wings.

He had to get out there, outside, now.

He lifted one paw and pressed down on the door latch. As the handle moved, his paw slid off it and the gold latch went back into its original position. He growled in aggravation and tried again, slightly curling his paw over the handle.

The door popped open. Sully nudged it open farther with his nose, then slipped through the doorway and into…

Freedom.

Ignoring the hummingbird and a small lizard that skittered across the concrete patio, he shoved his way through the oleanders. On the other side of the bushes was a small gulley—a wash, he remembered hearing them called.

He trotted down the wash on all fours, nose twitching as he took in the new smells of this foreign place. The flap of large wings caught his attention, and he stopped, head up, and watched a hawk circle overhead.

Free.

Run.

With a low grunt, he dug his paws into the sand and took off. As he found his footing, he increased his speed, running full out for several minutes until his lungs felt like they would burst. He settled into an easy lope. A jackrabbit, startled from its cover beneath a large bush, darted out in front of him.

Its heart raced and big feet threw sand behind it as it ran. Sully gave chase, scrabbling in loose dirt, trying to keep up as the smaller animal twisted this way and that with incredible speed. Just as he was about to close his jaws around it, something else caught his attention.

The jackrabbit skittered off while Sully lifted his nose to the wind for a better sniff.

There was that scent again—the one something like pine and citrus. Like him, yet different. This one smelled…

Female.