Nothing else in the room moved either.
The collection of heavy silver candlesticks seemed to be glued to the top of the marble mantelpiece. The solid lamps on the bedside tables appeared to be stuck where they sat. The cast-iron bookends sitting on the dresser, same story. No matter what Cate tried to pry loose, she came away empty-handed.
Gritting her teeth, Cate swallowed a scream of frustration. Given a choice, she would’ve preferred a dank prison cell to a pretty room. At least then she’d know what she was dealing with. Despite the beauty, something was wrong with the setup. Seriously wrong. Off in ways she couldn’t clock. She felt it, though. A weird hum filtered through the space, crawling over her skin, making her senses tingle and the fine hairs on her nape stand on end.
Not that she needed the sensorial telegram. She’d already gotten the message.
She was in trouble. Big trouble. The kind her father found all the time, but she avoided like a trip to the dentist.
Sock feet planted on the area rug, Cate closed her eyes. She inhaled deep, then exhaled slow. She repeated the process. Deep breath in. Hold it to the count of four. Let it back out. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
She needed to calm down.
She needed to be able to think.
Panic never helped anyone out of a bad situation. Clear-headedness was the goal. Being able to act, and do it quickly, when an opportunity arrived was key. Her dad might’ve failed in a myriad of ways, but at least he’d taught her how to think on her feet. To fix problems on the fly. To pivot and find other solutions when things didn’t go her way.
A useful skill.
One she must employ now if she hoped to—
A sharp click sounded.
Her gaze snapped toward the door.
A chill crept the length of her spine as the brass knob turned. She glanced toward the fireplace. Carved by a master, the single piece of pale marble surrounded an open mouth, hiding a wide chimney. One she thought she might climb, until she took a closer look. The flue was shut tight, affording her zero chance of escape by way of Santa’s favorite exit.
Hinges creaked.
The door started to open.
Backing away from whoever planned to enter the room, she searched for her boots. Maybe she could use one as a weapon. Or maybe she should put the pair on her feet, just in case she got the chance to run.
Spotting her Blundstones under one of the armchairs, she raced on tiptoes toward the fireplace. One eye on the door, she grabbed the pair on the fly and, rounding the chair, set up shop behind it. One boot slid on, then the other.
A tall guy with blond hair pushed the door all the way open. Dark eyes landed on her.
Hands curled around the top of the chair, Cate tensed.
He stared at her for a second, then sighed. “Relax, Cate. No harm will come to you here.”
“Bullshit,” she said, keeping her gaze trained on him. One false move, and she’d…
Her brows contracted.
She’d what? Brain him with one of the candlesticks glued to the mantel? Grab one of the bookends that refused to come unstuck? She swallowed past the lump in the throat. Weaponless. Cornered. Way out of her depth. God. This was bad. So very, very bad.
Suppressing a shiver, she decided to put her best foot forward. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Noble.”
“No, I mean… who are you? Bookie? Art dealer? The mob—which one, Italian, Russian, Albanian?”
Noble shook his head. “Far worse, I’m afraid.”
Worse?
Her brain went blank for a moment. What could be worse than the mob?
Digging her nails into the back of the chair, Cate took a fortifying breath. “Let me go. I’ve got nothing to do with whatever my dad’s got going. I have no part in his—” She paused, wondering how best to put it. “—business.”
His mouth curved. “I know, but you’re our quickest means to an end.”
“What’d he steal from you?”
“It’s of no consequence to you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Since I’m here against my will, I think I have a right to know.”
He shook his head.
Cate suppressed a howl of frustration. “If you won’t tell me, then why are you here? No offense, but you’re not exactly a scintillating conversationalist.”
He chuckled. “I can see why he wants you back.”
“Who?”
“Rannock.”
Her breath caught at the back of her throat. “Is he here?”
“Close.”
“How close?”
“Very close.” Half turning toward the door, Noble tilted his head toward the only way in or out of the room. “Need you to come with me, Cate.”
“Where?”
He raised a dark blond brow. “You want to see your man?”
Unable to deny the force of her need to see Rannock, she nodded.
“Then follow me,” he said, a whisper of warning in his tone. “And Cate?”
“Yeah.”
“Behave.” Already out in the hallway, Noble glanced over his shoulder. Eyes dark as pitch, and just as unreadable, met hers. “You hit Dillinger again, no telling what’ll happen. I may not be able to protect you this time.”
Wonderful. Truly fantastic. Dillinger must be an absolute psychopath. A true terror. One Noble would rather not challenge, so…
Guess picking up a weapon on the way to wherever wasn’t an option.
At least, not yet.
Something told her Noble would notice. He wouldn’t react well to her attacking his back. Even if she got the jump on him, instinct warned she wouldn’t win. He was too big. Much too strong. More aware of his surroundings than most. Which left her one option—bide her time, memorize every detail, strike when the odds tilted in her favor. That, and trust Rannock to know what to do and how to pull her out of her father’s mess.
8
T-minus five minutes and forty-seven seconds
Dusted by shadows, Rannock stood in the park across the street from Habersham House. Thick trees branches creaked above his head. He paid the welcoming murmur of live oaks no mind. He was too busy scouting his surroundings, becoming accustomed to night scents and sounds. To the feel of a city most Americans considered old, but was new by his standards. “Old” meant something else in Scotland.
Eyes trained on the upscale inn, he studied the mansion his prey called home. Three-story red-brick exterior. Tall windows with wide white trim. Thick cornices painted dark grey butting up against a pitched roofline. Roomy balconies running down the west side. A wide staircase with curving stone railings rising to meet ornate double front doors. Lots of greenery in the yard and leafy trees for cover. Neat. Tidy. More striking in person than the pictures he’d viewed online while in the air.
And trapped somewhere inside? Cate.
His one and only, if Kruger had it right.
Time would tell. The moment he caught sight of her, he’d know. The instant he put his hands on her, energy-fuse would take hold and the bonding would begin, confirming what his dragon half wanted to believe—that Cate belonged to him. That he belonged to her. That she was his mate, a perfect match, the one made and meant for him.
An intriguing idea. For most males, anyway.
He couldn’t deny he felt conflicted. His monumental mess-up with Heather had shaken his foundation, making him question everything. Who he was, what he valued, the way he moved through the world, and the lives he touched along the way. Heavy thoughts laced with guilt. Unpleasant ruminations populated by what-ifs and could’ve-beens. What if he’d caught on quicker? What if he’d acted faster? What if he’d steered clear instead of sleeping with her? Would Heather still be alive… or would she have repeated the same pattern with a human male?