They each finish off their croissant and head for the door. "See you in Hayes's office."
I watch them go, relief and dread tangling in my chest. The clock is ticking. I need to figure out how much more I can tell them before Sherlock unravels it all himself.
CHAPTER 29
You Have To Lie
* * *
Melinda Mayweather
The scent of rain hangs in the evening air as Cormac and I approach Astrid's apartment building. My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, anticipation and wariness battling for dominance.
The last time I was here significant progress wooing Astrid was made—involving her shower, her naked body, and the taste and feel of her skin against mine—but nothing about our situation is simple.
Bringing Cormac feels wrong. Territorial. My wolf doesn't like him here. Not after he took us from her at the warehouse.
"She should be back from the office by now," I say, catching her scent in the hallway layered with an undercurrent of stress and exhaustion that makes my chest tighten.
Cormac knocks, three sharp raps against the wood. We wait, listening to the soft footfalls approaching from inside. The lock disengages and the door opens.
There she is. Hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, dark circles under her eyes, wearing a faded black t-shirt and sweatpants. Beautiful. My mind instantly flashes to how that hair looked spread across her pillow, how those eyes darkened with pleasure in her shower.
Her eyes widen briefly in surprise, then narrow into a deliberate mask to try hide the rush of heat I can smell rising from her skin at the sight of me.
"I didn't expect you both." She steps back, allowing us entry but keeping one hand near the small of her back where I know she’s likely got a weapon tucked. Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and I catch the slight hitch in her breathing that has nothing to do with caution and everything to do with remembering my hands on her body.
"We need to coordinate," Cormac says, stepping forward with unearned confidence.
Astrid's eyes flash dangerously. "Planning to stick around this time, or should I expect another disappearing act when things get complicated?" The ice in her voice could freeze hellfire.
Cormac at least has the decency to look uncomfortable. "That was... a tactical decision."
"Tactical for who?" she snaps, hand still hovering near her weapon.
I can't help the satisfied smirk that tugs at my lips. Watching her tear into him soothes me.
"We thought it would be better to discuss plans together since I’m more familiar with this world than Fen," Cormac explains, stepping inside.
I follow, breathing in her fresh scent. "How did your meeting go?" I ask, studying her face for signs of trouble while deliberately avoiding looking at her lips. Lips I now know the taste of, the softness of.
She closes the door and locks it back. When she turns, she pointedly avoids prolonged eye contact with me, though I catch her gaze dropping momentarily to my hands before she quickly redirects her attention to Cormac.
"Better than expected," she replies, moving toward her kitchen. "Coffee?"
"Please," Cormac answers.
I nod, watching as she goes through the motions of brewing coffee, her movements efficient and precise. Even in this simple domestic task, she moves like me, like a predator aware of her surroundings, economical in her movements, always ready.
She reaches for the mugs on a high shelf, her shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin at her lower back and revealing the small backup pistol holstered at her waistband. I don’t care about the gun, what I remember is how that skin felt beneath my fingers, how she arched when I traced my touch along her spine.
I shift my weight, suddenly uncomfortable in my jeans, and catch Astrid watching me from the corner of her eye. A flush creeps up her neck as our gazes meet, and she nearly fumbles the mug she's holding.
"Hayes is giving my team the green light for the warehouse raid," she continues, her voice slightly huskier than before as she busies herself with the coffee. "We go in tomorrow night. Ghost and Sherlock will be with me."
"Your partners from this morning," I say, unable to keep a slight growl from my voice. I can’t imagine the thought of those other men near her, breathing in her scent. I can still smell traces of them in the apartment. It's irrational, I know, but some instincts run too deep to reason with, especially now that I've tasted her and held her in my arms.
She shoots me a look that's half amusement, half warning. "Yes, my partners. Who, by the way, have no idea that I'm working with you." Her gaze hardens. “Honestly, I can’t even believe that I am. How are we going to keep it that way?”
