for something to expose.
There was plenty there. The earlier scene with Faran had been achingly familiar, a replay of their last days together. Him burning with intensity and her wanting to duck and run. They were lucky all that broke this time was a lock.
“What has any of this to do with the ring?” she asked coldly.
“Your Mr. Kenyon has known associates in the jewelry business.”
“Oh?” Lexie strained to keep the curiosity out of her voice.
“It makes for interesting reading.” Valois stroked his lip. “But as his wife, I’m sure you know all that.”
She didn’t. Faran had kept so much from her. Tiny flames of anger licked along her bones. At the same time, she saw the yawning pit opening up beneath her feet. Faran’s history—whatever it was—made him vulnerable. No doubt Valois would invite her to save herself by selling Faran out.
Her stomach turned sour at the thought. The secrets I know aren’t the ones Valois expects. He’s looking for a thief, but I could hand him a monster.
Valois watched her reactions the way a cat studied an aquarium. “You know, I can’t put my finger on you two. You are either master criminals or helpless fools. Should I arrest Mr. Kenyon?”
“We don’t have the ring. You’re not going to find it by talking to me. Or him.”
“Are you so sure about that?”
“Yes.” Refusing to budge, Lexie dragged her fingers through her hair, but turned the nervous gesture into a leisurely stretch. She wasn’t giving Valois the satisfaction of seeing how much he’d rattled her.
And she’d keep the act up as long as she had to. Faran was innocent. Last night he had been in wolf form and thieves generally required opposable thumbs.
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“That’s up to you. I have no idea how I can prove our innocence to you.”
Valois removed a roll of antacids from his jacket pocket and began peeling away the paper wrapper. “I’m forced to agree with you there. Guilt is a far easier thing to prove, Ms. Haven. Or should I call you Mrs. Kenyon?”
* * *
Faran sat outside the corner bistro three blocks away from the palace. After leaving Lexie—and after Chloe had told him to go cool his jets—he’d slipped into the guardhouse and cleaned out his locker. Now he wore a light trench coat and had the local newspaper folded in front of him on the small glass-topped table, looking like any other young professional caught between appointments.
He was trying not to brood, but it was far from a complete success. It was as if he had an idiot button, and Lexie pushed it every time they met. But some instincts were more than human society could handle—and that was the whole problem.
Back in Paris he’d gotten himself on the bad side of bad men—a hazard of working undercover. Stupidly, one of them had tried to get to Faran by hurting Lexie. That was a very bad choice. There were some lines no one got to cross—and hurting Faran’s mate was one of them.
But that night Lexie saw what a rage-filled werewolf could do. She was gone by the next day, leaving no more than a note. His need to protect—as much a part of him as his head or hands—had driven her from his side.
And now Chloe had saddled him with a cover identity as Lexie’s husband and assistant. Chloe had meant to give him a plausible excuse to be in the palace, but that meant Lexie would be close to whatever trouble Faran might stir up. This is going to be no end of fun.
Regret stewed with anger in his gut. It was true what they said about love and hate being one step apart. He’d never hate Lexie, but his love had edged to that painful point where it was hard to tell the difference. He was a lone wolf, orphaned and raised up rough. Self-worth had come hard, and trust even harder. Lexie hadn’t destroyed him, but she’d left a hole that still hadn’t healed.
Disgusted with everything, Faran took another swallow of coffee, feeling the sugar and caffeine already buzzing along his nerves. The wound in his side was a steady ache.
Instinctively, he watched the street. Crowds walked by, some locals and some clearly visitors. No one seemed to notice the green-coated Vidonese guards everywhere, replacing the usual patrols like a spreading stain.
They were, however, looking at the red-haired woman striding down the street like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Faran set down his coffee. He knew that set of her mouth. She was swallowing back tears. He had to go to her. Now.
Or not. Hadn’t he tried the whole rescue thing once already today? And yet, he had to know what Valois had said about the ring. There was every chance its theft was connected to the scene last night. He had to talk to her, whether he liked it or not.
Faran abandoned the coffee and strode after her. He caught up in seconds.
“Lexie!” he cried, grabbing her arm. “What happened after I left?”
She turned, her hair whipping around her face. In the thin sunlight, the long waves were the color of turning leaves—not one shade of orange or red, but all of them—like a riot of flame. He dropped his hand as if the hue alone could scorch.
To his utter surprise, she fell against him with a strangled noise, her arms around his neck. Not sure what else to do, he held her. The way her tall, slender frame fit against his was all too familiar. They’d stood like this a thousand times, her cheek against his shoulder, the curve of her back under his hand. He tensed, afraid to remember too much—even if his body knew her soft skin and sweet, womanly scent.
It was just as well he held back, because the next instant Lexie pulled away, her eyes wide as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. “I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” he replied.
She scanned his face, her expression cautious. It rankled.
“What happened in there, Lexie?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. “How come they let you out?”
She didn’t answer, just studied the pavement.
“What happened?” he asked again in a flat tone.
She heaved a slight sigh. “Valois can’t prove anything right now, but I think we’re still in trouble. More trouble. I was actually— I was actually going to find Chloe and see if she knew where you were. But I kept getting her voice mail.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice careful. This was a complete reversal from telling him to get lost. “Now you’ve found me.”
With jerky movements, she looked around. “We need to go somewhere private.”
“How private?”
Lexie angled away, her shoulders tight. “Away from the palace. I feel like there are eyes everywhere.”
She was probably right. Besides, staying put wasn’t in Lexie’s nature. She didn’t even like going to the same restaurant twice. Faran nodded, but not too eagerly. He’d learned his lesson about overenthusiasm
