Twenty minutes later I stood in the middle of my living room, adrift in a sea of emotions as I looked around at my cozy and familiar home. A lifetime of memories was embedded in the time-worn floors, the sagging couch cushions, and intricate lace curtains hanging in the window above the kitchen sink. Absently, my fingers trailed over the afghan on the back of the couch, the rough, knobby wool familiar under my fingertips.
Looking down at the bags at my feet my heart constricted in sadness. The meager contents of my life had been crammed into my dad’s old army duffel bag and a backpack. It was all too reminiscent of the trial, being cloistered away in a hotel room and living out of a suitcase.
“It’s not forever. I promise,” Holbrook said at my shoulder, his voice pitched low and soft.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent.
Swallowing against the tears that rose unbidden and hot at the edges of my eyes I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. I hated crying in front of others. My tears had been broadcast across the nation and around the globe during the trial that had sentenced Samson to eight consecutive life sentences. My pain was laid bare, flayed open for the world to see as ruthlessly as he had torn open my body. I never wanted anyone to see me hurting and weak, ever again.
“What the hell is that?” Johnson demanded, cutting through the silence.
Following the direction of his accusing finger I looked down to the cat carrier at my feet as it began to ominously rock from side to side, emitting a very loud and grating noise that could only be described as someone trying to the choke the life out of a rabid weasel. And losing.
“Loki. My cat.”
“This is not a vacation, Ms. Cray. You are not bringing that thing with you.”
“The hell I’m not!” I replied, glaring at the older agent. “I’ll sprout wings and fart fairy dust before I leave without him. So you can suck it up and let me bring him, or you can explain to your boss and the media that I got torn apart by Samson because you didn’t want me to bring my kitty-cat.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Holbrook’s face flush with the effort not to laugh, a small chuckle escaping his lips before he was able to smother it with an unconvincing cough. Johnson’s features soured, his lips pursing as if he were sucking on a particularly tart lemon, but he didn’t offer any further protests.
“Fine. But I’m not scooping its shit,” he growled before storming out the door to go stand in the cold.
“Argh! Why’s he such a humongous tool?” I asked, rounding on Holbrook with a snarl. The burning itch in my eyes and the look of alarm on his face let me know that they had begun to bleed over to wolf gold.
Embarrassed by my lack of control I turned my back to him, closing my eyes as I drew several slow breaths, urging my pulse to slow as I pushed the wolf down. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides, my palms hot and sweaty, but thankfully still human. Tension sang in my hunched shoulders as they trembled with the need to shift, to run and get as far away as possible.
Not now, not now, I chanted, fighting to push the wolf back into the dark as I clung to the fraying remnants of my humanity.
After what seemed like an eternity she obeyed, sliding back into the darkness, but not before letting me know that next time she wouldn’t go without a fight.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not normally so easily riled. It’s just…”
“It’s okay,” Holbrook said, his hand a tentative, but warm and welcome weight on my shoulder. “Johnson’s an annoying jerk at times, but he’s a good agent. You’re lucky to have him watching your back.”
“Couldn’t he do it without being such an asshole?” I asked, still too embarrassed to turn around and face him.
“I think that’s about as likely as you sprouting those wings,” he replied, his voice light with barely suppressed laughter. Scooping up my bags, Holbrook flashed me a dazzling smile. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Grasping the handle of Loki’s carrier, his rollicking motion stilled the moment I picked it up.
A big black Suburban with government plates was parked in the driveway next to my green Jeep Wrangler. The black behemoth lurked in the snow like a great hulking beast, and felt about as welcoming.
Real inconspicuous, guys, I snorted, barely refraining from rolling my eyes.
“You okay?” Holbrook asked, pausing beside me, his eyes squinting against the mid-morning sun reflecting off of the snow.
“Yup, just peachy,” I replied, forcing a smile that I was sure looked more like a grimace.
Chapter 3