Page 75 of Prodigal Son

“That last part’s my fault,” Fox said, stepping forward. “When we realized these creeps were after all of you, I’m the one who said we needed to round everybody up. Make sure you’re all safe.”

“Huh. Of all Dev’s ill-gotten offspring, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the savior of the bunch, Charlie.”

“You know who I am?” Fox asked with true surprise.

Eden spoke up, and her voice was…strange. “He knows who all of you are.” She stood with her arms folded tight, expression haunted. “He was my supervisor at MI6 for a time.” She swallowed, and it looked painful. She stared at Morgan, caught between accusation and horror. “He wanted me to do some recon on you, once.”

“Recon? What are you…”

Oh.

Oh.

He thought of a dim pub, warm scent of too many bodies, and too much spilled drink. A voice beside him. “No one’s sitting here, are they?” A stunner of a brunette sliding onto the stool next to his at the bar.

She’d told him she was in law enforcement that night. She hadn’tlied.

Had she?

~*~

Then

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Just feel him out, Harlowe had instructed. Get a read on him.

Was he in trouble? Did she need to bring him in?

No. Just some recon. He trusted her instincts. Wanted to know her gut feeling.

It started at the pub, as planned. A regular haunt for him – at least when he was in town. He’d stay gone for months at a time, then come back around for a few. Lived in the big four-story Victorian building that housed a dark smoky pub on the ground floor, one she’d been into a time or two, all the employees sporting black leather cuts with running black dog patches stitched onto the back.

He was a Lean Dog, then. Everything Eden knew about them she’d gleaned from files, scrolling through arrest records, wanted fliers, and suspect lists on the computer, wind-roughened, bearded, leather-clad criminals glaring back at her from the screen. All of them looked defiant and proud, even in their mug shots. They all shared a legendary refusal to cooperate with authorities of all types; they never turned on their own kind in exchange for reduced sentences. Expensive lawyers in thousand-dollar suits always turned up to represent them at court.

Her target, Charles William Fox, was half-brother to the London chapter president. He didn’t hold a steady job in the city, and, for some reason, he chose to drink at a pub that wasn’t owned by his club. A bit odd, maybe, but Eden walked into McTaggart’s that night thinking she knew what to expect.

But she hadn’t counted on Fox.

He’d leveled a grin like a weapon at her – repeatedly. “Most people don’t, but you can call me Charlie.”

Charlie. With dark hair that gleamed under a row of Christmas lights, and a clean-shaven, almost boyish face. Not handsome in a traditional sense, but interesting. A spark in those big, blue, blue eyes.

He was a criminal, undoubtedly, even if he’d never been arrested. But the chill that rippled down her spine wasn’t born of fear or revulsion. And when he scooted his stool closer to hers, and let his arm brush against her side, she didn’t pull away. Didn’t want to. She wanted to blame it on the beer, but she’d only had half a glass. Tried to rationalize that she worked too hard, and it had been too long, or maybe she was catching the flu – tried to explain her absolute lack of reason.

But in the end, she knew it all boiled down to simple attraction.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this…but it happened all the same.

His mouth on her neck, five o’clock shadow tickling her skin, tongue tracing her pulse. His hands, touch gentle, skin rough, on her waist as he slipped them beneath the hem of her shirt and mapped the contours of her ribs.

“Wait – wait,” she breathed around a laugh, fumbling with her keys. “I’ve gotta – unlock–” There. The key slid home, and she turned the knob, and then they stumbled into her dark apartment.

He steered her back against the door when it was shut, and fastened his mouth to hers, deep, hungry kisses peppered with little nips. She laughed again – she kept laughing – against his lips, the curve of a smile she found there by feel in the dark.

He pressed in close, their bodies flush, and the intimacy of it shocked her a little. He was a stranger, and she didn’t trust him – but that thrilled her. The daredevil part of her that had chosen a job where she carried a gun and badge, and put her life on the line. He kissed her, his tongue sliding between her teeth, wet and messy, and she knew a thrill like a car chase; like closing a high-stakes case and ending up on the news. Too close, too fast. Against policy, against her better judgement….

She skimmed her hands up his stomach and chest, pressing at the taut padding of muscle there with her fingertips. Her heart pounded. Desire coiled up tight, almost painful in the pit of her stomach.

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