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Devon waited impatiently by the doors to the Oratory, watching as his absentminded partner jogged briskly across the lawn. He was a bit late arriving to work himself, but he should have known Gabriel would have already blown off whatever madness was waiting in the tunnels, and decided to spar in the sunlight instead. Even now, he was wearing sweats and a tank. An agent, not a president.
The guy can be such a child.
“Good morning,” he said a bit sharply when the assassin arrived. “You sure you have time for this today? I could handle the whole thing myself, if you’d rather keep playing.”
“I’d rather keep playing,” Gabriel answered promptly.
The fox rolled his eyes, shouldering open the door.
The Oratory was packed as ever, filled to the brim with the best the supernatural community had to offer, going endlessly through their paces, as their voices echoed beneath the domed roof. A few of them waved, most of them were too focused on their training. The two men paced easily past the general commotion, pressing the hidden lever, and vanishing into the tunnels below.
It was becoming familiar, perhaps that was what was so strange about it.
While a part of Devon’s brain still labeled the place as Carter’s office, another part was already starting to think of it as his own. He nodded politely to Haley and pushed open the door without a second’s pause, stepping back almost immediately as a literal wave of heat rolled out to greet him.
“Did you leave on the furnace?” he asked incredulously, forcing himself inside. In a matter of seconds, he peeled off his jacket. Hair stuck to the back of his heck. “It’s a sauna in here.”
Gabriel chose not to answer, pacing to his side of the desk.
It had been difficult at first, but the two men had found a reluctant rhythm. While their styles might have varied, they’d both been programmed with an unreasonable work ethic, and secretly appreciated the company as the long hours dragged endlessly on. They took breaks at the same time and had begun to share meals. The partition that stood between them, had come down.
“It never ends, does it?” Devon asked rhetorically, settling at the desk. He set down his bag and reached for the nearest folder, frowning a little at the heading. “What’s a Braxton-315?”
The assassin kept his eyes on the desk. “Not my problem.”
The fox threw him a look, before leaning forward. “Hey, Haley? Do you happen to know—”
“Just look in the bloody booklet!”
He jumped in this skin like he’d been given a shock, casting a startled look at the door. His eyes drifted gradually back to the folder, but he seemed oddly reluctant to touch it.
“She’s a complete nightmare,” he muttered, taking care to lower his voice. “So much worse than when we were in school. I don’t know how Carter can stand it.”
He doesn’t stand it anymore. He’s entered a world of macramé and sheep.
“I guarantee she didn’t yell at Carter,” Gabriel replied, twitching his fingers to swing the door completely shut. “I also guarantee Carter knows what a Braxton-315 is.”
There was a bracing silence.
“...do you?” Devon finally asked.
Another silence.
“I think it’s better if you look it up for yourself.”
The folder was slipped to the bottom of the pile. Neither man ever spoke of it again.
“So are you going to leave me hanging?” Gabriel asked, fanning himself absentmindedly with a liability waiver and leaning back in his chair. The room might have swelled to the precise temperature of the tropical wetlands, but neither of them had turned off the furnace. “Didian does fast work, and you only came with a number. Did you find out what it means?” “I texted you last night.”
Devon glanced over in surprise.
“You texted me a picture of a tiger,” Gabriel replied, thinking the fox had been either teasing or drunk. There was a weighted pause, as the two locked eyes. “It’s a tiger?”
“Yep.”
“Not a shifter?”
“Nope.”
“Like an actual—”
“Yep.”
It was quiet a few seconds, then Gabriel lowered his eyes to the desk.
“Just give me a second to process...”
Take all the time you need.
They worked in silence a few minutes, passing things back and forth, signing their names without looking to the bottom of an endless series of papers and forms. The words blurred into the same looping script, leaving their minds free to tumble down a thousand twisting rabbit holes.
Kraigan liked games—that much, they already knew. If those games happened to come with trip-wires and fangs, so much the better. But there was always a point to them. A connecting thread, no matter how obscure. No matter how much time the men spent puzzling it over, and they’d spent a great deal more than either of them was willing to admit...they couldn’t find it.
“A tiger,” Gabriel finally repeated.
Devon flashed him a sideways look.
“We just should be grateful, he kept it inside this century—”
There was a knock at the door.
Now what?
It cracked open before they could answer, swinging wider to reveal a man in his late forties, wearing an ascot and smile. He stepped into the room like it was his own office, eyes flicking over the piles of paperwork that had been quartered into strategic mountains across the desk.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said charmingly. “I probably should have made an appointment.”
Devon let out a breath, sliding an inch lower in his chair.
Wesley Harden.
Of all the people to have made their way into those tunnels, it had to be one of his least favorites. Wealthier than most countries, and with an arrogance to match, the man had taken to making regular pilgrimages with a laundry list of suggested improvements. He would deliver a rousing speech, gently remind everyone his family had donated several wings to the school, then return home—a palatial compound that made the Wardell’s Esher estate look like a dollhouse.
They had attended Guilder together, though the man had been several years ahead. As the fox recalled, after drinking too much at an alumni dinner, he’d actually made a pass at his wife.
You’ve never made an appointment in your life.
“Not at all,” Devon replied, forcing a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“Look at you, with the big office. Certainly a shift from our schooldays, huh?” He flashed a conspiratorial wink at the assassin. “Bit of a troublemaker, this one.”
Gabriel studied the ascot without speaking.
“What can I do for you, Wes?” the fox repeated, bringing them back on point.
He’d survived enough of these encounters to know, it was best to ask the question right up front. The man seemed to create more grievances the longer he was allowed to linger.
Instead of answering, Harden made a slow circle around the office—examining all those little curiosities that had been forbidden when Carter sat behind that desk. It wasn’t until he’d made a complete rotation that he finally settled into a seat. His legs crossed, and he reached for a briefcase.
“I trust you read my proposal?”
...in a manner of speaking.
Only a few days into their tenure as president, the friends had indeed received the man’s latest manifesto—a stack of papers large enough to require an index just to make sense of them. In spite of the deceptively flowery language, the message had been clear: he wanted to create an elite taskforce to oversee the council. He wanted to police the people, who did the policing themselves.
Gabriel had read only a few lines before using it to dispose his gum.
“It was riveting,” the assassin replied.
Immune as ever to sarcasm, the man nodded fervently—pulling out a fresh copy and tossing it onto the desk. The teetering piles of case-files wobbled precariously, but managed to stand.
“Now I know what you’re thinking,” he said preemptively, “things are working fine, then along comes this wealthy donor with plans to create a private police force to start harassing our own people, pushing his own agenda, and messing everything up.”
Yep, that’s pretty much what I was thinking.
Gabriel would have thrown in the word Gestapo as well.
“But this would be so much more than that,” Harden continued persuasively. “There’s a care component as well. We would provide counseling services, assist with debriefings. One branch would be dedicated entirely to dismantling the halfway houses—transitioning those kids out of the foster system and into the real world.” He clapped both hands on his legs, pointing at Devon like he couldn’t possibly disagree. “Those are things I’ve heard you speak passionately about yourself.”
One branch? How many branches are there?
“You want to have people sitting in on debriefings?” Gabriel asked casually, sharpening a paperclip with the tip of his nail. “You want to have people counseling our agents?” His eyes flicked up, catching the man’s face. “Now this might be a crazy idea, but hear me out: don’t you think if our people need mental health services...we should provide them with mental health professionals? Get them counsellors, to do the counselling? Would your taskforce be working in the infirmary as well?”
A painful silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock.
“I like the idea of oversight,” Devon said slowly, throwing the assassin a bracing look. “I like the idea of limits and regulation. The greater the power, the greater the need for transparency and restraint. But we have systems in place for all of that already. There are five people in the room at every debriefing. Exhaustive records are kept, two divisions keep notes. There is redundancy, after redundancy. We have more review boards than all the hospitals in England combined—”
“You’re saying there’s no room for improvement?” Harden countered, staring across the desk with an entitlement he’d mastered in the second grade. “You’re saying there’s no room for progress—or expansion? Carter had the perfect vision, and you have nothing to add.” His mouth twisted with a sour smile. “Maybe that’s to be your legacy—maintaining the status quo. Maybe you’re just keeping the seat warm, until you decide to take a sabbatical yourself.”
Devon blinked in shock, unable to believe he’d speak so directly.
A hundred responses raced through his brain, but he couldn’t manage to give breath to any of them. Fortunately, he’d been paired with a man who’d never experienced that problem.
“This taskforce,” Gabriel asked lightly, “who do you think should run it?”
Harden held his gaze for a split second, before pushing to his feet.
“Well, I think we’ve made some good progress.” He made a show of gathering his things, deliberately avoiding their eyes. The proposal was left in the center of the desk. “And I hope you’ll consider some of the things I’ve said.” He looked up then, fixing his gaze solely on Devon. “It’s a big swing, I’ll admit. But there’s some good stuff in there.” He tapped the cover page. “Don’t let your admiration for Carter stop you from taking those swings yourself. He picked you for a reason.”
Carter would never have taken this meeting.
“Thanks for coming by, Wes.” Devon pushed to his feet, extending his hand. “Be sure to give Lydia and the boys our best. We haven’t seen them in a while.”
“You should come up to the house sometime,” the man answered, shaking warmly. “We could have you and the family for dinner.” His eyes flitted to Gabriel. “Good day, gentlemen.”
He swept out the door a second later, leaving it open behind him. At first, they thought it was merely spite, but perhaps he wished to save them from the impending heat stroke. They stared after him in silence, waiting until his footsteps faded. Then they flashed a quick look at each other.
“No dinner invite for you, I guess,” Devon said conversationally.
The assassin snapped his fingers. “Darn it. And I heard they were going to barbeque the staff.”
The fox chuckled in spite of himself, but it quickly dissolved into a piercing headache. He rummaged around in the drawers, searching for a bottle of pills. “I think I’m developing anxiety.”
“You’re never going to convince him,” Gabriel said flatly, shutting the door with a flick of his finger. “He wants to be sitting on the other side of the desk. Everything until that point, is just a stepping stone to get him closer.”
You’re absolutely right.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Devon answered, popping three into his mouth. He was about to add another, when the assassin slapped it out of his hand. “I’m sure everything in there is rubbish”—he nudged at the manifesto—“but we could always use more checks and balances.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, tilting back in his chair.
“Yeah? Describe for me his version of checks and balances. Poring through private medical records? Don’t worry about the wiretaps: we only did the office, not your home phones?”
Devon leaned both arms on the desk, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m just glad you didn’t strangle him with the ascot.”
The thought certainly crossed my mind.
There was movement further down the hallway, the distant echo of voices, getting closer with every step. They were cheerful, but impatient. Burdened, no doubt, with some problem only their presidents could fix. In a matter of seconds, there was a knock on the door. Then another.
The men froze perfectly still on the other side.
“I can’t do it,” Devon breathed, staring through his fingers. The pills had lodged somewhere in his throat, the image pulsed with every beat of his heart. “I can’t do another bloody meeting.”
Gabriel considered a moment, then shot him a quick look. “I know a way out of here.”
Devon turned in surprise. “How?”
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, the two men were sprinting towards the parking lot—having just crawled out of a ventilation shaft that had dumped them out somewhere near the pond. They’d emerged like a pair of escaped convicts, whooping in delight, as they raced towards freedom. It wasn’t until they’d actually cleared the campus that they dared to slow down, bending over with hands on their knees.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Devon panted, a boyish grin spread across his face. His cheeks were flushed with cold and adrenaline, and for the first time since stepping into the office that morning, he felt like he could actually breathe. “How in the world did you know about that thing?”
Gabriel straightened with a windswept smile, looking just as pleased. “Angel and I did some reconnaissance before we started working here,” he answered a little breathlessly. “Figured we needed a few backups, in case we ever had to leave in a pinch.”
Devon laughed aloud, tilting his head towards the pale sky. “Of course you did. And you never thought to mention it?”
The assassin shrugged, like he had so many times before. “I’m mentioning it now.”
Devon laughed again, shaking his head as they began walking towards the cars. The day was only half-finished, but there was plenty they could do from home—somewhere out of reach from those pressing crowds. The fresh air was already reviving him, breathing new life into each step.
“Maybe we should hold all our meetings outside,” he said in a burst of inspiration, planning on the fly. “Ten pounds says we’d get half as many people, if they had to stand in the cold.”
Gabriel nodded thoughtfully, pulling out his keys. “Do you want to suggest that to Haley, or should I?”
There was a pause.
“...that’s a good point.”
They stopped in the center of the pavement, cars parked on opposite sides of the lot. In an ironic twist of events, Devon found himself suddenly reluctant to leave. It wasn’t the campus that had chased him away, just that suffocating little throne underground. What he wouldn’t give to walk straight back into the Oratory, put on any clothes that didn’t have a collar, and simply spar.
We could do that in London, he thought abruptly. No reason it has to be here.
He was actually about to suggest it, when Gabriel reached suddenly into his pocket—pulling out his phone. An instant smile lit the assassin’s face, as a message flashed across the screen.
“Natasha’s back early.”
The question died on his tongue, as he flashed a parting smile. “Give her my best.”
The assassin was already pacing away, waving over his head. “Will do.”
It wasn’t until he’d reached the other side of the lot, Gabriel looked back over his shoulder, the smile fading into something harder to define. He called out softly, knowing the fox could hear.
“Dev...a tiger?”
It was quiet a moment, then Devon shook his head. “I’m done playing games with Kraigan.”
* * *
THE DAYS PASSED QUICKLY, there was plenty to fill up the time.
Between the impending holidays and the caseloads piling up at work, Devon found himself completely swamped. No sooner would he cross one thing off his list, than another would appear to take its place. The moment he solved one problem, two more sprang up in its wake. Not since the birth of his children, had he felt more overwhelmed. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Carter was coming back into town.
“So, he didn’t tell you what it was about?” Luke asked, taking another swig of whiskey.
After discovering how much happier he was away from the office, Devon had performed his newfound escape as many times as possible—often bewildering Haley, when he entered the office wearing one set of clothes, and left a day later in another. It had become such a regular occurrence, he was considering talking to the maintenance staff about planting more trees around the pond.
“Nope,” Devon answered, taking a drink himself. “Just that he was coming home for the holidays, and wanted to find a spare moment for us to have a little talk.”
He was perched on a counter in his friend’s home office, watching as Luke pored through hour after hour of Syrian security feed, trying to get a read on the people who’d attempted to steal the tambor. It was a grueling task, and while it didn’t necessarily require two people, he’d decided to raid the man’s liquor cabinet and ask mundane tech questions, in a show of support.
Luke threw a look over his shoulder. “That sounds ominous.”
The fox shrugged. “At best, he’s going to congratulate me on not having burned the place down. At worst, he’ll say I’ve disappointed him beyond words, and give the presidency to someone else.”
There was a pause.
“How many of those have you had?”
Three.
“Just the two,” Devon replied, finishing it off. He hopped down from the counter, crossing the room to the bottle. “Probably time for another.”
Luke laughed quietly, extending his glass as well.
It had been hours, the two had been holed away in his office—listening to Christmas carols and proceeding to get casually buzzed. While neither of them had much expectation of actually finding anything on the grainy video feed, it was a great deal better than venturing into the cold.
“So you’d be okay with that?” he asked, typing a sequence to enlarge one of the faces in the crowd. It swelled into prominence before sinking back. “If he gave it to someone else.” His eyes sparked with mischief, finding his friend. “What if that someone was Gabriel?”
Devon tensed involuntarily, then sighed.
“I’d probably throw myself from the roof, and claim it was a reindeer sighting.” He shook his head, raising the glass to his lips. “To be honest...I have no idea. The job isn’t what I thought it would be,” he said decisively, “that much I know. But as for the rest...?”
He trailed off, shaking his head.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked the question. Ever since his father-in-law had left a cryptic voicemail, he’d gotten it at least once a day from almost everyone he knew. They all seemed to be under the impression it was a good thing. That Carter was returning to bestow his official blessing, hand over the keys to the office once and for all. While Devon wasn’t remotely sure that’s what was going to end up happening, his problems ran a little deeper than that.
He wasn’t sure it was a good thing at all.
Luke spun around in his chair, studying him speculatively.
“Is it just the workload?” he asked. “Because you can delegate some of those things to other people—appoint someone to make the case assignments, appoint someone else to sign off requests for equipment and leave. Carter never managed to delegate, that’s what turned his hair grey.”
We turned his hair grey.
Devon swished his glass, fighting back a smile.
“Sounds like you’ve spent some time thinking about it.”
A rare blush crept into Luke’s cheeks.
“Not really,” he said evasively, spinning back around. He stared a few seconds at the monitors before adding, “But yeah, my dad and I have started having those talks.”
The fox straightened up with interest.
“Oh, yeah? What’s his timeline?”
Luke snorted, fingers tapping on the keys.
“I’m not telling you his timeline. And I’m not sure I’d say yes, even if he asked me—which he hasn’t, by the way, so you can stop looking at me like that.” He started to say something else, then shook his head with a little sigh. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure I’d want to give all this up.”
By now, Devon was riveted. Something that wasn’t helped by his four drinks.
“How do you mean?”
Truth be told, it was a bit of a throwaway question. Having lived the same quandary for the last few weeks, he was painfully familiar with it himself. But it helped to hear someone else say it.
“I like where I’m at,” Luke said simply, spinning again to face him. “I like being in the field, I like coming home to Molly each night.” He paused a moment, considering. “I can’t imagine that any scenario with me taking over the Knights, wouldn’t imply moving to the abbey as well.”
Devon nodded slowly, fighting back a grimace.
Since he was just a teenager, he’d been enchanted by the little monastery, tucked in the middle of the English countryside. If it wasn’t the old world majesty of the building itself, it was the people living inside. Not an agency, that isn’t what he’d call them. A family—that was a better fit. But it was a place he liked to visit. Under no circumstances, would he want to live there himself.
“What does Molly say?” he asked quietly.
Luke sighed again, raking back his hair. Slow beads of condensation melted down his glass onto his fingers. “She says no one’s asked me, and I should stop being so vain.” He smiled a little, as Devon laughed in the background. “She also says she’d go with me in a heartbeat,” he added softly, suddenly serious. “But I can’t imagine asking her to do something like that.”
The laughter faded, as the fox stared back with concern.
“I’m sure it wouldn’t come to that,” he answered, not actually sure at all. “If your dad ever wanted to get a house in the city, I’m sure the rest of them wouldn’t begrudge him that. The abbey likes to forget, but it’s the twenty-first century. We have cars. You can live wherever you like.”
A flicker of emotion passed across Luke’s face.
“The people at the abbey are living there by choice. It’s a commitment they’ve all made, one that transcends modern convenience and lets them focus on a higher cause. There will never be a Commander of the Knights, who isn’t living there beside them.” Their eyes locked, and the corners of his lips twitched with a wry smile. “That’s something the council likes to forget.”
Devon stared back with a touch of surprise, feeling like they’d suddenly strayed off course. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Luke shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”
Bullshit.
“What?” the fox demanded, setting down his glass. “You think the Privy Council is out of touch? That we’re so blinded by luxury, we’ve lost sight of that higher cause?”
“I would never say such a thing,” Luke replied, eyes twinkling.
“But you think it!” Devon accused, those four drinks getting the better of him. “And that is utterly ridiculous, Fodder. Lest you forget, there’s a helipad at your precious agency, just like there is at mine. Out of touch,” he repeated with a scoff when his friend refused to engage. “I don’t know what could have possibly made you think—” There was a vibration in his pocket, and he reached suddenly for his phone. “Hang on, it’s the king.”
Luke chuckled to himself, turning back to his computer, as Devon opened the line.
“If another cephalopod washed up on the beach, deal with it yourself, Philip. Some of us are actually working.”
There was a crackle of static, then a familiar voice echoed through the phone.
“That’s a delightful memory, Wardell. But your work is spilling into mine. Have you heard of a man named Wesley Harden? Because a small novel he wrote, just landed on my desk.”
Devon’s pulse jumped, as his mouth fell open in shock.
You’ve got to be kidding me!
“He actually sent you his proposal?” he exclaimed, unable to see past the rage of it. “I’m going to ring his neck with my bare hands! I’m sorry, Philip. You should never have seen that.”
“I didn’t see it,” the king answered, thumbing through the index. “Not really. I’ve got a full day, and this would take most of the week to read. Is there anything worth mentioning?”
The fox shook his head, rubbing at his eyes.
“Parts of it make sense, parts are...precarious.” He sighed quietly, a five inches of whiskey churning in his stomach. “Mostly it’s just a way to get his name on some letterhead. I’ll get into it.”
“I hope you’re bowing, now. Even if we’re just on the phone.”
Devon grinned in spite of himself. “Good day, your highness.”
“Good day, yourself.”
The line went dead.
“Is everything okay?” Luke asked, tossing a look over his shoulder.
“It will be,” the fox answered, sliding his arms into his coat, “after I order the assassination of Wesley Harden. You want to come over to my house? We could watch the game?”
“There’s a foot of snow outside. What game could possibly be playing?”
“I don’t know...curling?”
Luke chuckled, gesturing to the screen. “I’ve only got a few more hours, I’ll call you if I find anything.”
“I’ll call you if I need bail.”
* * *
DEVON STALKED DOWN the street to his house, fully prepared to start ranting about the creation of English oligarchies to his wife, only to discover that she wasn’t at home. Deprived of an audience, he settled into some light housework instead, picking up clothes and gathering old mugs of coffee, casually fantasizing about daylight homicide as he drifted from one room to the next.
It’s so quiet.
The silence was overwhelming, seeming to press in on him from all sides. Maybe it was the snow outside, cushioning the usual sounds of the neighborhood, or the fact that his son was finally at the dorms himself—but never had Devon felt it so strongly as in that very moment.
This is how it will be all the time, after James leaves. Nothing but empty rooms and a quiet, quiet house.
The door banged open.
“Honey, I’m home!”
By the time he raised his head, Rae had already breezed past him into the kitchen—conjuring a thick mug of cappuccino, while tossing her purse absentmindedly onto the stove.
Devon stared a split second before following her inside.
In the beginning, those little moments had shocked him. Now, he was bizarrely used to them. The other week, she’d been texting with Molly and absentmindedly microwaved her keys.
“Where were you?” he asked, rescuing the purse from the burner.
She let out a weary sigh. “I was at my dad’s grave.”
There was a beat of silence.
His head snapped up in surprise. “...really?”
She stared at him a weighted moment, then flashed a playful smile. “No, I was out with Angel.”
Just as unsettling.
He chuckled quietly, stealing a sip of cappuccino for himself.
“And how’s Angel?” he asked, warming his hands on the mug. “You know she’s launched a new charm-offensive against me? The little wretch is determined to be friends.”
Rae stared at him a moment before shaking her head. “I honestly don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, I’m out with Angel and guess who we run into at Barneys?” She paused for theatric effect. “Cordelia Knight.”
He leaned against the counter, eyebrows lifting to his hair. “Really? She can take corporeal form?”
His wife snorted with laughter, inhaling a great deal of cappuccino. It had become a joke between them, after so many years without ever having met Emma’s mother. Their son’s girlfriend must have crawled from the ether, they’d decided. Her actual parents didn’t exist.
“How was it?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
They’d come to like Emma a great deal, whilst never knowing a great deal about her family life. The girl’s father was no longer in the picture, and he’d always gotten the impression her mother was rather cold. Judging from the look on his wife’s face, cold was a bit of an understatement.
“You wouldn’t even believe it,” she exclaimed, hopping onto the counter herself. “She was just pulling onto the block as we headed back outside, and I spotted her through the window of her car. Now I know you’ve said not to accost people while they’re driving, but she was already parked, okay, Devon? She was already parked.” She was picking up speed, gathering momentum. “Anyway, I hurried over with Angel to introduce myself, but she wouldn’t get out of the car. She wouldn’t even roll down the window. And I know that she recognized me, because she finally gave a little wave.”
The fox stared back with genuine interest, unable to imagine it.
“So what happened?” he asked curiously. “Did you manage a proper introduction?”
The intricacies of female dynamics were a bit beyond him, but he’d lived in their company long enough to know when someone had crossed a line. The least she could do was shake hands.
“I did one better,” Rae declared triumphantly. “I invited her to Christmas dinner.” She misinterpreted his expression completely, clapping her hands in delight. “I know! It was right there in person, Dev! She literally couldn’t say no!”
The smile froze on his face. “Well, that’s...terrible. Now we’re stuck with her for Christmas.”
“It’s brilliant!” Rae countered, still glowing with her victory. “This way, we can passive-aggressively charm her to death, using the holidays as a cover!”
Tis the season...
“And what about our son?” he asked with a trace of humor. “You know, James?”
She stilled for a moment, before turning deliberately away. “This is bigger than him...” she muttered.
The fox laughed out loud, pressing a kiss to her lips. “That was very big of you, sweetheart.”
She deliberately ignored this, downing the rest of her cappuccino, before conjuring herself a giant suitcase. “I certainly thought so. At any rate, I’ll have a lot of time to plot, because that arsonist from Geneva just popped back up on our radar, so I’m heading off with Molly to the airstrip.” She started conjuring clothes even as she said it, throwing them randomly into the bag. “We shouldn’t be too long, just a few days.” There was a sudden pause in momentum as she looked out the window, chewing nervously on her lip. “Even though I don’t really want to be going away right now...”
Devon came up behind her, pressing another kiss to her neck. “Why not?”
She startled a little, then shook her head quickly. “Just with the holidays coming up, there’s a lot going on. James is already asking if there are any family heirlooms he can gift to Emma.” She turned sharply, fixing him in her gaze. “Plus, there’s this ongoing scavenger hunt my husband so irritatingly neglected to mention...”
He smiled sweetly, fiddling with the top of her blouse.
“The scavenger hunt is off. And I have apologized for your brother.”
“Half-brother,” she corrected.
“I have apologized,” he repeated, lifting her onto the counter. Her knees parted, and he stepped between them with a grin. “Would you like me to apologize again?”
She shrugged casually, eyes twinkling in the light. “My flight doesn’t leave until ten.”
