Page 55 of Licence To Howl
‘It fits,’ Devereau had insisted. ‘Not only that but Solentino made a point of mentioning coordination in relation to terrorist attacks.’
‘Chrisopher Solentino is dead.’
‘But his ideas might not be.’
She had gone silent then. But not for long. ‘MI5 will consider this further. You will return to London.’
‘Not yet, I won’t.’
‘Goddamnit, Devereau!’
He’d hung up after that and destroyed the burner phone which Moretti had given him for the very purpose of calling her. There was no point continuing the conversation further and he’d told her everything he knew. He crossed his fingers and hoped that MI5 would take his theory seriously. But he was ready even if they didn’t. Devereau Webb, Nicolo Moretti and Scarlett Cook might be an unlikely trio to save the world. They’d do it if necessary, however. With that thought, he tumbled into the bed in one of Moretti’s lesser known properties and crashed out.
When he woke up five hours later, he felt like a new man. Or wolf. Whichever. Six fights and a chase through the streets of Rome might have pushed him to his physical limits and, unlike a human, his inevitable collapse had been far more dramatic, but at least his lycanthropic blood allowed him to recover quickly. It was just as well. Devereau was well aware that there was a considerable amount to do.
He found his suitcase, thoughtfully left at the foot of his bed, and quickly dressed before heading out in search of Scarlett. She’d clearly taken advantage of the hiatus to get some sleep herself and also looked considerably refreshed. Even better, she also had a pot of coffee on the go.
‘It’s good to be Nicolo Moretti,’ she said, passing him a steaming cup.
‘And it’s good to be one of his friends,’ Devereau agreed. The Italian alpha might possess a gargantuan ego – but both the size of his heart and his willingness to help matched it.
‘You’ve timed your sleep well. He just phoned,’ Scarlett informed him, ‘and by the sounds of things, he’s managed to dredge up some useful information although he wouldn’t say what over the phone.’
Excellent. Devereau nodded and took a sip of the coffee. He had faith that Moretti would come good and that it wouldn’t be long before they’d catch up with Vissier, Avanopoulos, and whoever the fuck had murdered Solentino and the rest of the crew.
‘How’s your stomach doing?’ Scarlett asked.
‘Better,’ he said.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘And my ring?’
Devereau scratched his chin. ‘No sign of it yet. It’s proving more stubborn than I’d have expected. In fact -’
Scarlett held up her hands. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘on a need to know basis, I’ve decided I don’t need to know. You can keep your bowel movements to yourself. Give me the ring when it finally appears.’
Devereau grinned at her although, secretly, he was regretting swallowing the damned thing at all. It had seemed like a good idea at the time and it helped to get them in with Solentino. It had been a rash move, however, and wasn’t something he’d be tempted to try again. He also realised that discussing his toilet needs wasn’t the way to appear to be the suave, sophisticated man that Scarlett deserved.
‘What is it you look for in a partner?’ he asked suddenly.
Scarlett flicked him a side look. ‘I take it,’ she said, with a sudden cool note, ‘that you’re referring to a romantic partner?’
Devereau bobbed his head. ‘I’m not asking because I’m fishing. I’m genuinely curious. You had a fling with that young copper in Supe Squad.’
‘Fred, you mean.’
‘Yep. He seems like a nice kid.’ Devereau pursed his mouth. ‘If you like that kind of thing.’ He paused. ‘But he and I have nothing in common. Do you have a type, Scarlett? Or you more of a pick and mix kind of woman?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘I simply like a buffet.’
‘Uh huh. I’m more of an a la carte kind of man.’
Scarlett snorted. ‘I bet you are.’ She met his eyes. ‘What are we talking about any more? I’m getting confused.’
Devereau kept his tone soft and non-combative. ‘Stop trying to change the subject.’
‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘I like who I like at the time and that’s all there is to it.’ She turned away and busied herself with washing up the coffee pot.
Devereau gazed at her rigid back. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what he had in common with Police Constable Fred Hackert. Hackert was a bright-eyed, bushy tailed human male who would likely end up with a sweet wife, two point four chubby cheeked children and a house in the suburbs. Devereau was a growly, ex-criminal werewolf who worked best on his own. Neither of them were the sort of men who would be expected to want to settle down with a vampire. They were safe – as far as Scarlett was concerned – because in theory neither of them would want a long term relationship with someone like her. Theories were all very well, however. In practice, Devereau wanted to wake up next to Scarlett every day in his foreseeable future. From what he knew of Fred Hackert, the young policeman had wanted the same before she’d gently pushed him to the side. The trouble with Scarlett was that she under-estimated herself far too much. And for reasons known only to herself, she was terrified of commitment. She didn’t want to be caged by a man. But Devereau didn’t want to trap her. Neither did he want to put her on a pedestal. She wasn’t perfect and neither was he. He was convinced, however, that they were perfect for each other. What he wanted more than anything was to run wild with Scarlett by his side. He let out a long sigh. It didn’t appear a particularly likely outcome right now. More’s the tragic, heart-rending, stomach-churning pity.
