Myst shook her head. “No worries. Her new identity won’t go to waste. She’ll need the proper paperwork if she wants to leave the lair during the day anyway.”
Surprise blinded J.?J.
“You know, it makes total sense now that I think about it,” Tania said, cutting her off as she tilted her head. And oh boy. Not good. J.?J. recognized that look, and whenever her sister wore it, trouble always followed. “He stayed with her all day. Practically kicked me out of the room to be with her.”
“Really?” Rabid interest sparked in Myst’s eyes. “What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Tania said, a clear “duh” in her tone. “He looked at me sideways. Mac said it was all right, so I made him promise we’d sleep in the next room—”
“Within earshot.” Myst grinned. “Smart move.”
“Thank you,” Tania said without losing a beat. “Then I got the hell out of there.”
J.?J. opened her mouth, then closed it again. What could she say? The exchange made her feel like a twelve-year-old. A clueless one with overbearing parents who intended to take over her life. Lock. Stock. And barrel. Which was… yup. An all-too-familiar occurrence with her big sister around.
God give her strength.
“Okay then,” Myst said. “New plan. We’ll keep Daimler in the loop, but ask him to continue preparations on the safe house anyway… just in case things go south. Now all we need to figure out is—”
“All right, that’s enough.” Done listening to plans for what amounted to her inevitable demise, J.?J. glared at them both. She might enjoy a good mystery upon occasion, but playing monkey in the middle? Not really her style. “What the heck is going on?”
Straight teeth worrying her bottom lip, Myst glanced away while Tania pretended to examine her cuticles. The stall tactic didn’t work. J.?J. knew trouble when she spotted it. The pair were hedging, no doubt wondering how much to tell her. Which didn’t bode well. Not for her anyway. Tania times Myst equaled smart squared. A scheme was definitely afoot. One that included her—probably Wick too—so…
No. Letting sleeping dogs lie wasn’t an option.
“Well?” Ignoring the twinge of pain along her side, J.?J. shoved away from the table. Expression set in militant lines, she raised a brow. When neither folded under the pressure, J.?J. dug in. No way would she walk around Black Diamond blind, deaf, and dumb while Tania plotted the equivalent of a military coup. “Spill or all bets are off.”
Sheepish her new middle name, Tania sighed. “I was worried about you.”
“Since when?” J.?J. asked, sarcasm out in full force. A chronic fixer, her sister worried about everything. Normally, she didn’t mind. The constant barrage of concern reassured her, telling her plainer than words that her sister loved her. Today, though, she could’ve done with a little less fretting and a lot more forthrightness. “Tell me why you’re in fixer mode.”
“I freaked out when Wick carried you in.”
Myst huffed. “She accused him of killing you.”
“What?”
“I know,” Tania murmured. “Totally uncalled for and I apologized, but that doesn’t mean I trust him not to hurt you. He’s a straight-up killer, J.?J.”
“So am I,” she said, making her sister cringe. J.?J. felt the answering ping soul deep. A terrible ache rose in its wake. She didn’t like reminding Tania, but fact was
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes… I do.” Saying the words helped solidify her certainty. Wick might be rough around the edges. He might even scare the hell out of Myst and her sister, but labeling him a woman beater was unfair. She’d insulted him once by fearing he might hit her. J.?J. refused to do it again. Or let anyone else think badly of him either. “He saved my life, Tania. Got me away from Griggs, out of the hospital, and here in one piece. All while keeping me pain-free. So, I don’t care that he scares you. I like him. I’m attracted to him. I want to know more about him… even if the thought of commitment makes me want to run. So back off.”
Her outburst echoed, bouncing around the clinic like automatic gunfire.
Stunned into silence, the women stared at her. J.?J. glared back, anger helping her hold the line. She was a grown woman, for God’s sake. Well able to take care of herself. So screw the new ID and her sister’s idea of a safe house. She wanted the chance to get to know Wick better. The decision was noteworthy, her first self- affirming one since getting out of prison. A tribute to autonomy and her newfound freedom. And if she made the wrong choice and it turned out badly? Well then, she would have no one to blame but herself.
18
Bare feet planted on the bathmat, Ivar raked a hand through his wet hair and yanked a towel off the top rack. The silver shelf rattled. Terry cloth snapped its tail, protesting the rough treatment. Ivar didn’t care. He wanted to trash the entire bathroom. Just let loose and put his fist through the wall. The only thing that stopped him was the sight of fancy light fixtures bookending the antique mirror.
He frowned at the fuckers. Ah, hell, he couldn’t do it.
Installed less than a week ago, the expensive pair heralded a momentous occasion. Construction on the underground lair was almost complete. Proof positive lay in the finishing touches that now graced his en suite. After months of waiting, the vanity finally sat in its place, the last tiles had been laid, and, yes, he now owned wall sconces. Small details. Big impact. Which meant he needed to reel it in before he took his frustration out on the wrong thing. And set his plans back another step. With his bedroom suite now complete, he didn’t want his worker bees back in his space. The human construction workers he imprisoned had enough on their plates without him fucking up the flow.
Reasonable. Logical. Annoying as hell.
He wanted to kill something. Maybe then he’d kick the cabin fever. Two days. Almost forty-eight hours of nothing. No progress in the lab. No contact with his soldiers. No fresh air either. Why? One answer. He’d been stuck inside his bedroom with Hamersveld. The male was still out of it, flaked out in his bed, suffering from God only knew what for a wren Ivar couldn’t find.
With a growl, he tossed the towel into the corner and conjured his clothes. Jesus. Could it get any worse? Another entire night wasted. The confinement was getting old. Inactivity drove him insane. Was the kiss of death, a sign of an idle mind and—
A groan sounded from the other side of the closed door.
Ivar sighed. Terrific. Time to go another round with Hamersveld.
Not bothering with shoes, he padded across the heated floor tile and swung the door wide. Light from the bathroom cut a swath across the bamboo floor, spilling onto the bed beyond. His head half-buried beneath a pillow, blond hair matted with sweat, Hamersveld lay belly down, one arm hanging over the side of the mattress. Not much different there. The warrior had been that way since collapsing on the bed, but…
Ivar frowned and, sidestepping the chair he’d parked beside the bed, stared at the male’s back. The tattoo bracketing both sides of his spine shifted and… holy shit. Ivar drew a quick breath in surprise. Nothing normal about that. The tribal marking Hamersveld wore like a badge of honor wasn’t red anymore, but morphing, changing, sifting through the color palate to land on polished silver. Mesmerized, he took a step closer, changing his vantage point for a better view. The tattoo went mirror smooth, reflecting the pink of his irises back at him.
A sizzling hiss rolled through the quiet. Mist rose, twisting like steam from Hamersveld’s skin.
A pattern formed in the smoky swirl.
Ivar stilled, then reversed course, backing away a step at a time. Distance seemed like a good idea, and caution an absolute must. Especially right now. Something nasty stared out from the mist, yellow-slitted pupils narrowed on him. Self-preservation punched through. Ivar called on his magic and conjured a protection spell. The invisible shield settled in his hand and—
