Denver’s Shepherd was Alexei Cordova. He’d been a relative unknown until he had arrived in Denver five years ago, and quickly made a name for himself as a ruthless, but talented, businessman. In just a few years he’d risen through Denver’s political circles, somehow ingratiating himself to the movers and shakers of the city.
There had been no short supply of rumors when his predecessor, a magi named Gregori Voronkov had died unexpectedly, and Cordova had assumed the role of Shepherd with the full support of the Mayor and Governor. The circumstances of his rise to power left many questions unanswered. Seeing as I didn’t want to end up as another unanswered question, I knew without a doubt that he was not someone I wanted to cross.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve been letting me bad mouth her for days.”
“Would you have stopped if I told you?” he asked with a questioning tilt of his brow, clearly doubting that I’d be able to control my tongue either way.
“Probably not,” I admitted. “But that’s not the point. You’re supposed to tell me these things.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time you look like you’re in the mood to piss off one of the most powerful supernaturals in Denver,” he replied with a grin before turning and heading down the hallway.
“Crap on a cracker,” I sighed, following him out into the cold.
Chapter 30
“SO, WHAT DO we do now?” I asked, jogging along to keep up with Holbrook’s longer strides.
“Now I take you home.”
“Aren’t we going to look for Johnson? Figure out where he’s holed up?”
Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, he turned to face me, the cold already turning the end of his nose and tips of his ears pink.
“I’m supposed to be protecting you from Samson, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” I ground out. Anger bubbled up from the depths to form a burning lump in the center of my chest at his suggestion that I had forgotten about the axe blade hanging over my head.
“Are you sure?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest as much as my injuries would allow.
“I just wonder if maybe you’re using all this stuff with Johnson as a distraction from everything else that’s happening.”
“This stuff with Johnson? You mean the fact that he drugged, kidnapped, and tried to kill me? The fact that he’s still out there and could decide to finish the job at any minute?” My breaths were coming hard and fast by the time I finished, and judging from the alarmed looks of the few other people out on the street I might have been yelling. “This stuff is the shit storm that my life has become,” I said a little quieter but with no less anger.
“I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be, but we can’t forget the real reason we’re here. Samson is still out there, and no matter how much of a threat Harry may be, my job is to protect you from Reed.”
“And what if Johnson comes after me again?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to stop him.”
Seeing the tightness in Holbrook’s face, the sadness and betrayal in his eyes, some of my anger drained away.
We rode back to Holbrook’s house in silence, the sun sliding down to kiss the mountains as we drove across town, casting out golden shafts of light over the city. It was a beautiful sight, the trees and buildings gilded in gold, and for a fleeting moment I could almost forget that I was in mortal danger. Propping my elbow on the edge of the door I cradled my chin in my hand and watched the world slip by, imagining that I was unaware of the monsters lurking in the shadows.
The illusion of normalcy was shattered by the cluster of black town cars and SUVs lining Holbrook’s street and the roaming patrol of agents, but he quickly sought to revive my fantasy by putting me to work in the kitchen. In typical Riley fashion, I made an absolute mess of the kitchen as I smeared thick slices of bread with a mixture of olive oil, garlic, and grated cheese, while he set a pot of water on the stove to boil and started throwing ingredients together to make a red sauce.
In no time at all the kitchen was filled with the delicious fragrance of roasted tomatoes, garlic, and Italian spices. Careful of my stitches and healing ribs, I levered myself up onto the counter, earning a wordless frown from him, and broke chunks of cheese off the block, popping the sinfully creamy, nutty nuggets into my mouth.
“Are you going to eat that whole block?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at me as he tried the sauce and added another dash of pepper.
Looking down at the cheese sitting on the cutting board, I saw that I’d already nibbled my way through a sizeable portion. “I might.”
Leaning towards me he plucked the chunk of cheese I had just broken off out of my hand, popping it into his own mouth with a challenging arch of his brow. I responded to his thievery by sticking out my tongue and breaking off another piece, nibbling it contemplatively as I watched him.