Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (11 page)

Pain shadowed her features like a cloud passing over the sun. “Oh, I can have whatever I want, do whatever I care to do, as long as it goes on his account or passes under his nose.”

She flashed a glance at Thompson, her eyes filled with hot, angry tears, her voice filled with repulsion. “But marriage to someone I cannot stomach for even five minutes? I will not do that.”

She turned back to Wolf. “But what I have done is not right. This was no way to gain my freedom. Nor was coercing or manipulating anyone else.” Her eyes narrowed at Wolf. “That is something I would never do.”

Wolf nodded silently.

She turned to leave. “Do what you must, Captain, even if it means informing my father.”

Wolf stepped in front of her and caught her at the shoulders. “But what will he do?”

She shrugged her shoulders free. “Oh, you mustn’t worry about my father hurting his precious daughter. At least not physically, if that’s what has you concerned. Obviously, you did not hear me clearly. Father will simply find other ways of controlling me. The captain has been around my family long enough to know my father can be extremely clever when it comes to drawing a circle around someone from which there is no escape.”

“Keep the money, Alanna.” Thompson’s voice sounded weary.

“I cannot. We’ve been friends too long, and I know you would only replace it with your own.” She smiled through a shimmer of tears.

She walked over to the captain. “See me to my cabin, will you please?” She slipped her arm through his.

“Good evening, Wolf,” she said, and looked directly at him one last time.

He shook his head, amazed by her steady demeanor. “Good evening, Miss Malone,” he murmured. An odd stirring rolled through his gut at her calm manner—and at her imminent departure.

He was still by the fire when Thompson returned. They sat quietly for a time.

Finally, Thompson spoke. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you’re going to miss her a helluva lot.”

The last thing Wolf needed was a discussion of the woman who’d just left his life. “Don’t start.” He grabbed a glass of whiskey and stomped out of the cabin.

 

A hollow ache in Wolf’s gut overrode his hunger. Who the hell cared about food—or anything else, for that matter? What a disgusting three weeks he’d put in, with today being the lowest point. Not bothering to don anything more than trousers, he lay on his bed in the Tremont House Hotel, watching a crack in the ceiling seem to lengthen in nightfall’s deepening shadows.

The more he dug into the past, the more obscure became the mystery surrounding his mother’s death. He’d finagled his way into the dank chambers of Boston’s newspaper archives this morning. The only things he’d found surrounding the date of his mother’s death were neatly clipped empty spaces in yellowed newspapers. Forays into the local cemeteries proved futile as well. A search through the hall of records produced nothing with regard to his parents. Furthermore, he couldn’t even locate a record of his own birth.

It was as though his family had never existed.

His reception at police headquarters this afternoon had been even more of a riddle. What the hell was
that
about? He’d been greeted with stern consternation by a seasoned watch commander who’d disappeared briefly after Wolf had inquired about the murder. He’d returned alongside a growling, saggy-jowled superior enveloped in an aura of menace. The man had demanded to know who Wolf was, and why he was inquiring about a murder more than twenty years old.

They’d situated him in a moldy-smelling room in the belly of the building. Despite the officer’s vulgar coughing, he’d failed to cover the sounds of a key grating in the old lock. Wolf had promptly vacated the premises by way of a small, high window he’d forced open with his hunting knife.

Misery clouded any expectations of finding his mother’s killer. In the short span of three lonely weeks, Wolf felt as though he’d lost the final vestiges of his childhood. The emptiness of the man he’d become, and where his aimless life had led him invaded the fortress he’d built around himself. Had there ever been much of anything to his life after all?

How long he’d lain in his bed, he couldn’t tell. In any event, the day disappeared altogether and the frequency of voices along the hallway diminished. This meant most of the guests had departed, either for the hotel’s dining room or into the crisp night air to one of Boston’s renowned restaurants.

A tree limb scraped against the window, its shadows scurrying across the ceiling like spiders on the run. His skin crawled. With a laborious sigh, he kicked his feet to the floor and padded barefoot to the window. Pressing his palms to each side of the window casing, he watched the branch grate and thump against the pane. Tomorrow he’d change rooms. He yanked the drapes tightly together, moved to the gas wall sconce across from the bed, and lit the flame.

A knock sounded on the door.

He checked the clock on the wall—twenty minutes past eight. “Aw, Christ.”

This was the second night in a row he’d failed to appear at the Thompson home for dinner. Why the hell had he agreed to go? It must have been the youngest Thompson child’s winsome, gap-toothed smile that had done it.

Guilt replaced dejection. He headed for the door, hoping Thompson hadn’t brought the child with him—
another
of the man’s promises if Wolf failed to show. After such a dismal day, he doubted he could handle the mercurial emotions of a six-year-old.

He opened the door and swallowed a gasp.

There stood Alanna Malone, chin up and back stiff. Behind her hovered a hulk of an Asian man. He was tall—and ageless. His black, riveting eyes sparked deep into Wolf’s, seeming to pierce his very existence. A flash of lightning shot through him. He swore it had come straight from the man’s eyes.

Very few people were capable of disturbing Wolf’s demeanor of indifference, but this man did. And so did the woman standing before him. His memory hadn’t played tricks on him—if anything, she was even lovelier than he remembered.

“Invite us in, please.” Alanna breezed past him.

“Yes, ma’am.” Wolf caught her scent as she passed. He suppressed a smile, shook his head in amused surrender, and stepped aside for the stranger.

An aura of inherent wisdom hovered about this enigmatic man who entered without a word. An almost intimidating power enveloped him, yet one without any residue of threat.

Intriguing.

Wolf shut the door and moved toward the center of the room where Alanna stood. Had the temperature in the room gone up or was it
her
firing his blood? Thompson had been right that last night aboard ship—Wolf had missed the hell out of her.

The strange man stepped across the room, paused in front of the wall sconce, and crossed his arms over his chest. His actions reminded Wolf of how he himself settled in to observe a situation. The light shining from behind the man created a nimbus around him that made it virtually impossible to make out his features—a trick Wolf often used.

He turned his full attention to Alanna. Did the man’s presence add a certain propriety to her being in Wolf’s room? Was that the reason for her boldness? He didn’t know—and he damn well didn’t care. New life bloomed in him, vanquishing the low mood that had gripped him over the past weeks. He wanted to tease Alanna once again, to reach out and touch her hair, run a finger lightly down her cheek.

Hell, he wanted to kiss her.

Instead, he fisted his hands on his hips. One corner of his mouth inched upward. “How did you know where to find me?”

“You disappointed Little Mary when you failed to show for dinner, and the Thompsons are concerned about you.” She set a purple reticule on the bed and fiddled with it. “Wolf, meet my guardian, Old Chinese.” She didn’t look up as she spoke. Instead, she began lining long shiny needles in rows and laying out small gray pieces of something Wolf could not discern. Old Chinese stepped forward.

“Whoa!” Wolf reached for his shirt. “I saw enough of that torture going on back in San Francisco’s Chinatown to know it won’t be happening to me anytime soon.”

“Don’t bother putting that on,” Alanna said matter-of-factly. “There are circles under your eyes and you’re strung tight as a drum. These will relax you and it is hardly torture.”

“Oh, no. Unh-uh.” Wolf backed away, shaking his head. “If you think this guardian of yours is about to shove needles in me, think again. And I hope you’re not of a mind to hold me down, because it would take an army.”

This time Old Chinese flashed a broad grin, exposing a set of crooked, very white teeth. “You are perceptive, sir. And you carry a good sense of humor.”

A shaft of surprise ran through Wolf. The man spoke with a flawless Oxford accent, his resonant voice filled with deep authority. Where the hell did he come from?

Alanna continued laying out the needles.

Wolf jerked his head toward Old Chinese. “I will not allow anyone to stick those nasty-looking needles in me.”

He took Alanna by the shoulders and turned her to face him. Chamomile soap, roses . . . and her personal scent hit his nostrils. The muscles in his groin clenched. “No,” he said softly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

An incredulous laugh escaped Wolf’s lips. “Because this is insanity, that’s why not.”

“Are you afraid of a few needles?”

No, he was afraid he couldn’t keep his hands off her. “I haven’t laid eyes on you since the ship docked some three weeks ago, and suddenly here you are, knocking on my door with a stranger at your side, and announcing with no explanation whatsoever, that you and Old Chinese here would very much like to puncture various parts of my anatomy. And you actually expect me to comply?”

“Yes.”

A spark of humor creased the old man’s face.

“Ah, Alanna, darlin’.” Wolf’s hand came off her shoulder and under her chin, tilting it upward. “Your diplomacy stinks.”

Old Chinese grinned and tapped his hard biceps. “I am to hold you down. Miss Malone will stick you.”

Wolf dropped his hold on Alanna and stood assessing the two for a long while. While each of them was a powerful presence in their own right, together they seemed to form a third, even more commanding energy. They said little to one another, yet they moved in unison. She appeared to have a stronger and more vital connection to Old Chinese than to her parents.

“Let me guess. This man has been your guardian since you were—”

“Born,” Old Chinese interjected.

Wolf took his time studying the man. “Pardon my ignorance, but you happen to be about the least likely candidate I’d ever figure to be looking after the Malones’ daughter. Care to elaborate?”

Old Chinese moved to the bed and perused what lay atop it. “I met Malone on the docks in China several years prior to Miss Malone’s birth. He hired me to guard valuable goods meant for transport.” He took up a needle, and holding it to the light, squinted at its tip. “There was a murder that took place not two blocks from where Miss Malone was born. A child went missing, which set families on edge. Since I am trained in a particular martial art, I was assigned to protect her. Suffice it to say that not only did her self-centered parents have no time for her, they were incapable of rearing such an intelligent, headstrong girl, so the duty fell upon my shoulders. As it turned out, my role in her life has served us all rather well.”

A chill ran through Wolf at the mention of his mother’s murder. “But why are you still guarding her when she’s a grown woman?”

From behind him, Wolf heard a soft, feminine ripple of laughter.

Old Chinese set down the needle and picked up another, holding that one to the light as well. “Since Miss Malone has no intention of marrying the man chosen for her, she could pose a threat to her parents’ only chance of being accepted into the upper echelons of Boston society. It’s no longer a matter of guarding Miss Malone from harm so much as keeping her out of mischief until the wedding.”

Wolf turned to Alanna, who sat in the chair with a lazy grin. “Now, that I can easily understand.”

Setting down the last of the needles, Old Chinese swept his hand toward the bed. “I am the perfect solution for selfish, prideful parents. Now, if you please.”

A wayward thought slid to the surface of Wolf’s mind. “Alanna, what were you doing at the Thompsons’? You didn’t just happen in on them at the dinner hour, did you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t think of dropping in on someone unannounced—” She stopped speaking when she realized what she’d said.

Mischief coursed through Wolf again. God, he’d missed that, as well.

The Asian bent over the bed and completed what Alanna had begun. To mask a grin?

This time it was her turn to place her hands on her hips. “I was invited. I visit often—have done so for years. And did I know you had been invited as well? Most assuredly.”

Wolf lifted a brow. She’d always been able to throw him with her detached honesty.

“I was very much looking forward to seeing you again, Wolf. And since the captain told me your business matters have you at odds with yourself, I thought perhaps, if I . . . we—” She nodded toward Old Chinese. “If there was anything we could do to help, we would.”

Wolf’s hand slipped to the chain holding the backward garnet earring. Alanna’s eyes had been leveled there the entire time she’d spoken. She couldn’t know of his true purpose in Boston—Thompson would never have told her. He slipped the necklace off, made his way to the dresser, and deposited it in the top drawer.

Old Chinese studied him with an intensity that made the very air in the room swell. Wolf could feel the power in the man surge, as if the life force within him increased to envelop Wolf.

“I’m not the one who does the sticking, by the way,” Alanna said. “That’s Old Chinese’s wicked sense of humor.”

Wolf chuckled. “What a pair the two of you make.” No wonder she was so very different from any woman he’d ever met. He turned to Old Chinese. “You raised her while her parents busied themselves trying to gain a foothold in society?”

“Mother never had any patience with me,” Alanna responded. “And Father? Well, he would have preferred a son.”

Wolf walked over to the bed and lay back on the stack of pillows. He crossed his hands behind his head and appraised Alanna from toe to head, and back again—drank her in like a man in the desert stumbling upon an oasis. Sometime in the last few minutes, his dark mood had evaporated like lake mist under a warming sun.

Alanna stepped back. “My friend here has wonderful hands. He can massage the tension from you, with or without the needles. Now that I know you’ve been under a great deal of pressure, I’m pleased I followed my instincts and came to you.”

“Why do you have to be so damn honest, Alanna? Makes me feel like a rat.”

“Let Old Chinese work on you,” she said. “If you don’t care for what he does, he’ll stop and we’ll leave you be.”

Leave him? That was the last thing he wanted. He threw his hands in the air. “All right, I surrender.” He turned to Old Chinese. “Do whatever you wish, but if I so much as raise my pinkie, you stop. Got that?”

“Got that,” the man answered, his face creased with pleasure.

Wolf held his palms upward. “Where do you want me, and how?”

Old Chinese waved his hand back and forth across the bed, indicating Wolf should lie sideways. “It would be best if you disrobed.”

Wolf leaped from the bed, his hands on the first button of his trousers. “Sure enough. And what does Miss Malone do while I strip naked?”

She pointed to the towel rack by the nightstand. “Miss Malone closes her eyes while you wrap that bath towel around your derriere, you arrogant boor.”

Wolf, filled with devilish curiosity as to how far he could go with his insolence, started on the buttons.

Alanna sat in a chair, folded her hands in her lap, and shut her eyes.

He dropped his trousers to the floor in a heap and sauntered across the room wearing nothing but a wicked smile. Whatever the hell her behavior while with Old Chinese, it was substantially different from what was acceptable in staid Boston.