He entered the kitchen to Pierre makingcafé,filling Gabe and Stef in on the last few weeks. Pierre handed him a cup. He wouldhave killed for a pastry, something sweet, but for now this would do.
Stef, her hip cocked against the island bench, eyeballed the two of them. “A cat? You remember you’re both werewolves, right? And, in time, she will be, too.”
“Oui.” Cats and dogs were naturally antagonistic. A cat and werewolves—that would take a bit of finessing.
She shook her head, a bemused expression on her face. “Well, this is going to be interesting.”
Louis rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and grimaced. “We’ve got a few issues to sort out before we get to that point. That’s the least of them.”
She’d left her home and her country. Pierre had made the right decision bringing her cat along.
Gabe stilled, his cup halfway to his mouth. “She doesn’t know?”
“What we are? Or that the client she believes is a battered wife on the run from her abusive husband is really a time-traveling old witch who sent a hitman to kill her?” Louis gulped down a mouthful of coffee Pierre had added a heap of sugar to. The sweetness didn’t detract from the sharp edge of their predicament.
Gabe shook his head. “For two people so smart, you’ve made a pig’s breakfast of this.”
Pierre snorted. “Like things went smoothly with you and Annabelle.”
“While we’re talking about fuck ups,” said Louis, “what’s with us using this place again? The views are great, but Cordelia has to know it exists after what went down over Christmas. If she does, you can bet the Faucherians do, too. If we’re going with the animal analogies, we’re like sitting ducks here.”
He didn’t like that at all. Not with their vulnerable mate here.
“The Ritz-Carlton has undergone a few changes in the last few months,” said Gabe, throwing back the last bit of hiscaféand rinsing his cup in the sink. “We put the word out among our friends that we have a vested interest in this place. A good portion of the employees, from management down to the cleaning staff, are now friendly to us. And there are wards everywhere. Especially here. Annabelle’s coven saw to that. Can’t you feel them?”
Of course he could. The subtle hum hadn’t let up since the moment they’d walked into the foyer. Would it be enough to keep their enemies at bay, and Melinda safe?
The distant swish of the elevator doors had both him and Pierre on high alert. He sniffed the air. Food—spicy—and female shifter. A statuesque blonde smothered in his brother’s scent breezed into the kitchen, bags of takeout in her hands. This must be Annabelle, their brother’s mate.
“Ooh, double trouble,” she said, placing the bags on the counter. “From Gabe’s descriptions, you must be Pierre,” she said, jerking her chin at his twin. “And you must be Louis. We got your text.” She opened a bag and slid a container over to him. “Here’s what you asked for. Shacha noodles, with spicy sausage, tofu and vegetables. Oddly specific. I take it, it’s for—”
Melinda entered the kitchen, her laptop under her arm. They’d have to pry that thing away from her to get her to useles toilettes.She’d probably try to sleep with the thing.Ever since this morning, on the plane, she’d kept it close. She’d suspected Pierre of trying to access it. Smart little cipher. She wasn’t wrong, but her mistrust stung all the same.
“I’ve contacted my client to arrange a meetup.”
“Where?” asked Pierre.
She swung her gaze to him, and beneath the suspicion a hint of something else, a softening.
Her laptop announced an incoming message. She flipped the lid, tapped the keyboard. “Dogpatch?”
He looked to Annabelle for clarification.
“It’s on the eastern side of the city, near the waterfront,” said Annabelle. “It used to be mostly industrial, but it’s changed a lot in the last twenty years. Now it’s kind of a mix of both. It’s about twenty minutes by car from here.”
“Do you need backup?” asked Gabe. “In case you run into any more hitmen.”
If Cordelia had Faucherians guarding her, Gabe and Stef would be an asset. If she used spells, if she had other members of the King family with her—witches and warlocks, all of them—they were going to need Annabelle, and perhaps a few members of her coven.
Melinda shook her head. “No. I agreed to two bodyguards. No more. My client will be terrified as it is. I can’t show up with a bunch of people.”
“We’ll hang back and keep out of sight.” Gabriel held up his hands. “We’ll be there if you need us, that’s all.”
Melinda glanced around the kitchen, the designer kitchen with its high-end appliances. “Thanks, but I don’t think I can afford that.”
Stef’s eyebrows shot up.
Gabe’s forehead bunched in a frown, his gaze swiveling between him and Pierre, and his gut tightened at the censure in his brother’s eyes. “You’re taking money from her? To protect her?”
