“Sentinel meeting tonight,” Ria told her. “At Lucas’s place.”
“Time?” She circled a possible security hole in the blue-print in front of her, her mind flicking to the last time she’d been in an underground garage. Damn but she missed the wolf already. And, scent layer or not, that spelled trouble.
“Seven. Sascha’s doing dinner.”
“God save us all.” Sascha had decided she liked cooking. Unfortunately, cooking didn’t like her back.
Ria chuckled. “She’s improving. She made me a cake the other day, and it was only a little salty.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“Don’t worry—tonight it’s tacos. She told me there’s not much she can do to destroy that particular meal.”
“We’ll see,” Mercy joked. “Any other news?”
“Zara’s designing for us again as of today.”
Mercy liked the changeling wildcat who’d been on contract to DarkRiver’s construction arm before heading back to her own pack. “Say hi to her for me. Tell her Sage still has a crush on her.”
“Aw, cute. How come your brothers are single?”
“They say I scare the women off.”
“More likely they’re spoiled—they’re not going to settle for any woman who doesn’t match the standard you’ve set.”
Buoyed by the compliment, Mercy shook off her odd mood and focused on the work. The rest of her day, including a security shift in the city, passed with surprisingly little drama—the Alliance had gone cold again, and Bowen and his crew were still behaving. Even Eduardo and Joaquin were nowhere to be seen, for which boon, she could only thank the heavens.
And if she continued to find herself thinking about a certain wolf much too often, she was sentinel enough to keep her emotions from interfering with the job. But those feelings were fresh in her mind when she got a call as she was about to leave to change for the meeting.
“Come up and meet me tonight.” That deep, now familiar voice soaked through her skin, rich, dark, and tempting.
Her hand clenched on the receiver. “Can’t. Got something else.”
“When’s it finish? I’ll meet you.”
“No.”
“That’s it—no?” The edge of a growl in his voice. “I thought we’d settled this.”
The sheer arrogance of hiscommands—not requests, commands—made the cat snarl. “Doesn’t mean you have an entry into my pants anytime you please.”
“Jesus, Mercy, I just wanted to talk to you.”
She felt a little twinge. Of guilt. Of hunger. “Talk now.”
“Fine.” He told her about the conversation he’d witnessed between Hawke and Sienna.
Mercy’s antennae twanged. “Something’s seriously wrong.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I want you to tell Sascha. She’s the one Psy we know who might have a shot at getting to the bottom of this. Judd says Sienna’s stonewalling him.”
“Why didn’t you call her yourself?”
Not even a pause. “Because it’s you I want to talk to.” No lies. No subterfuge. No hiding his intent.
“Damn it, Riley. This’ll leave us both broken in the end.” The naked emotional response pushed out past any logicalrebuttal. She was starting to think of him ashers, but he wasn’t, might never be. Not when her leopard wouldn’t even accept the bonds of scent.
“And is fighting it any less painful?”