Uncle Charlie squeezes my shoulder. “If we change the plan, we’ll need a different cover story, given that Aaden and Joan aren’t the grandchildren of Matthew Waterford. This would take time we haven’t got, and given this cover contains elements of truth, it’s more believable.”
I shrug his hand off my shoulder and stare at his stern blue eyes, just a shade lighter than my own but crinkled in the corners with laughter long forgotten.
My voice is quiet, meant only for him. “I thought you valued my opinion and input… but clearly, I’m mistaken. You know what going back to the life of high and mighty society will cost me, who I might bump into. People betrayed me—that life is dead to me. I’ll do it because my commanding officer is telling me to. But as your niece, I’m disappointed and hurt you didn’t talk to me about this.”
He grinds his teeth, offering no apology. Stubbornness is a Waterford family trait.
“It’s unlikely you’ll see him, Natia.”
“Who?” Aaden asks.
I sigh. My past is exactly that—my past, and it should stay buried. But in the interest of full disclosure, my team should know.
“We will be entering the world of Seattle’s elite, privileged assholes. Which includes my ex-fiancé, Dalton Miller.”
Zee leans forward, his gaze boring into mine. “What happened?”
“We had fundamental differences in relationship philosophy.”
Zee tilts his head, studying my no doubt tight features. “That shit. I’ll knock him into next week and out of our path if we meet him.”
Rubbing my forehead, a deep breath expands my lungs. Working with secret government agents means working with exceptionally perceptive people. Duncan gives my back a soothing rub as Uncle Charlie and Aaden describe the rest of the plan. We will be moving to my grandfather’s penthouse apartment in Seattle tonight. My grandfather insisted Reinheart oversee the merger himself. He agreed. Our first meeting is at 10 a.m. tomorrow.
“When was the last time you visited your house?” Aaden asks me.
“Two days ago. I’m on top of my visits.”
We each have homes we frequent at least twice a week. Mine is a guest house I’ve commandeered on my grandfather’s estate. The rest of the time, we stay at HQ.
The SIP is located below a legitimate security firm, Crown Security Inc., which doubles as our cover identity. From the outside, the building resembles a typical business unit. The ground floor has a reception desk and various offices, while the lower level houses the SIP. It holds the command, medical, gym, and training rooms. The lowest floor is the living quarters.
“Natia?” I hear the hesitancy in Uncle Charlie’s voice and meet his eyes in challenge.
“Charlie?” I reply, ice coating my tone. He winces. When he doesn’t say anything further, I stand and head to my bedroom. I’m halfway through the living and kitchen area when Aaden catches up with me and grabs my hand, forcing me to stop.
“Natia… it needed to be on a need-to-know basis while we formulated a plan,” he pleads.
I glance at Joan and Jack, who are leaning against the pool table with cues in their hands, not bothering to be discreet as they eavesdrop.
I stare at the floor. “Did it really, Aaden?”
Aaden’s tall frame looms over me. I’m the smallest and, at twenty-five, the metaphorical baby of the team. All of the men are over six foot, and even Uncle Charlie is six-foot-one. I wonder if that’s a prerequisite for joining?
Aaden squeezes my hand, and I meet his gaze. Even though I’m mad, my heart softens. His intelligent, steel gray eyes are filled with worry. “Natia, please… You know it has to be like this sometimes.”
I’m too heated to continue a conversation about this. I pull my hand out of his grip and march to my bedroom to pack.
Tossing my dirty clothes in the laundry basket and clearing my king-sized bed of my laptop, Kindle, and journal, I throw my suitcase on the bed and consider my wardrobe. Given the majority of my time is spent running after demons and fighting, I own jeans, combats, leather pants, T-shirts, tank tops, a leather jacket, and a few dresses I wear on the rare occasions I go out—but nothing suitable for a boardroom. Duncan appears in my doorway, startling me. I can’t decide if he teleports or just moves fast. I asked him once. His response? “I have a knack of being in the right place at the right time.” Typical Duncan—dodging the question.
One of the most feminine statements I’ve ever spoken falls from my lips. “I have nothing to wear.”
Duncan leans against the doorframe and arches an eyebrow. “I came to tell you that your new wardrobe has already been delivered to the apartment.” My shoulders sag in relief. Wait, someone chose my clothes? Weird, but I can’t muster the energy to care.
Duncan studies my face. “Are you worried?”
“Of course not,” I grouch, throwing my arms in the air, “I can act like a professional business woman. Pretend I know what a merger is and understand the need for a legal team. I can sit in boardroom meetings for hours on end without falling asleep…” I groan. “This is ridiculous. I need to speak to Charlie. He’s finally lost his marbles.” I stomp forward. “Move,” I uncharacteristically snarl at Duncan.
He ignores me. “Aaden will guide you—you’ll be fine. Don’t be angry with Charlie; he wouldn’t have trusted you if he thought you couldn’t handle it.” He wraps his arms around me. I tense before relaxing into his warmth, taking a deep, steadying breath, and inhaling his unique scent of cinnamon, oranges, and fresh linens. His calmness strips away my anxiety and tension.
“Do you want me to come with you tonight?” he offers, resting his chin on my head.
I consider it. But if I’m going to pull this off, I need to be as independent, cool, and collected as possible. I bite my lip. “No, I’ll call if I need you.”
He pulls back and pins me with his stern eyes. “You better.”
Yeah, he didn’t need to work on his stares. He cups my face. “Don’t let your guard down. We don’t know who these people are, apart from dangerous. It’s possible they can read minds, and if they can read auras, they’ll find it odd you’re shielding, but it’s safer than them seeing it.”
Four years on, and we still have no real clue as to the meaning of my unicorn aura (I nickname everything). What we do know is supernaturals are drawn to it—maybe out of curiosity, maybe because they know something we don’t. Despite popular sci-fi fiction portrayals of mind reading as a common gift, in reality for humans, it’s rare. Given the business we’re in, we have a small concentration of people with this gift: Duncan, Uncle Charlie, and Aaden.
Duncan places a chaste kiss on my forehead and walks out. Three seconds later, I stick my head around the door to say goodbye, but he’s already disappeared down the long, stone-walled corridor. My money is on teleportation.
I chuck the essentials in my suitcase, including my journal. I use it to write down my strong feelings and thoughts to help my mind deal with them, making it easier to shield my aura. I lean on my suitcase, stuff in the protesting contents, and wrestle with the zipper until it’s closed. Sighing, I take one last look at my personal sanctuary, already mourning its temporary loss.