Hour of the Lion by Cherise Sinclair (reading a book txt) 📕

back a step and moved in front of her. His eyes, black as night, met Thorson‘s, and power edged his voice. 'No, Joe.'

The impending change fled; the anger did not. Lips closed over a snarl, Thorson turned his head away and struggled for control. He heard Calum speaking...'lost his grandson.

Grieving...not himself.' And hearing, he regained his composure. No one apologized for him.

He turned back to the female. 'I‘m sorry.' Her face was whiter than the snow-capped peaks, her eyes shocked. Did grandchildren not die where she came from?

'I… Fucking A, you‘re…' She swallowed and raised her voice and her chin both. 'I‘m sorry for your loss, Mr. Thorson.'

'Thank you.' He inhaled, his chest sore from more than the fight. 'Calum. I haven‘t thought of a way to achieve balance. Since you know the fem—ah, lady, have you suggestions?'

'I have an idea that might serve,' Calum said smoothly. The faint smile on his face had the hackles on Thorson‘s neck rising. Last time he‘d seen that smile, Calum had crippled the recipient. 'I would suggest you give Miss Waverly free rein in your bookstore.' Calum glanced at Al and added, 'As long as she resides in Cold Creek.'

The Cosantir had lost his mind. How could free books compensate for Thorson‘s attempt on her life? But by Herne, the female clasped her hands together, and the look on her face could only be described as bliss.

Calum raised an eyebrow at Thorson.

An unfamiliar human underfoot in his domain? The townsfolk he knew were bad enough.

Thorson choked a little, and then spit out the traditional answer. 'The balance is fair. Accepted.'

Engulfed in the aroma of books, leather, new paper, and a hint of dust, Vic was unable to keep the smile off her face. She‘d begun to wonder if the place was ever open. Bookstore withdrawal—who would suspect such a thing existed? But she‘d get her fix today. The store was even better than she‘d hoped with a great selection of new and used books, including military sci-fi.

Joe Thorson had taken up position behind the small counter, watching her, his expression somewhere between amused and furious. Furious wasn‘t good. This probably wasn‘t the smartest thing she‘d done, entering a pissed-off panther‘s lair.

Then again, this lair had books.

And she didn‘t blame him for attacking her, not after Calum‘s explanation. The old man had to be Lachlan‘s gramps, and if he‘d learned how his grandson had died, it was no wonder he hated humans.

Turning her back on him, but keeping her ears open, she did a quick survey of the place.

Like everything else in this town, the building was old. The counter was by the left wall. The door behind it probably led to a back room. Towering wooden bookshelves created a maze on the hardwood floor. The right wall held a table and ladder-back chairs before a fireplace. Useful, but not very friendly. She noted the two windows framing the fireplace as possible exits.

Wandering around the room, she discovered a shelf of recently released books. Yes! A new Guy Gavriel Kay went under her arm. She thumbed through a Bujold and kept it also. But there was a new Crusie, dammit. No. With a lingering sigh, she forced herself to walk to the counter.

He eyed her and her choices.

'I expected you to take more,' he said patronizingly. His voice was sandpaper rough, like someone had crushed his larynx in the past. White lacework scars covered his tanned forearms, so maybe the same person had tried to rip him apart. Considering his personality, quite understandable.

'I limit myself to two books at a time,' she said. No need to mention how delaying to pack books had almost gotten her blown up. 'I‘ll be back in a couple days for two more.'

'I see.' He held out a hand. 'Let me put them into the system so my inventory remains correct.'

He scanned in the barcodes and pushed them across the counter to her.

'Thank you.' She gathered them up.

'Balance,' he said, his mouth flattening slightly.

Earlier, on the way to town, Calum had explained the balance-reciprocity stuff was a local custom. It sure gave new meaning to the phrase, ‗paybacks are hell‘. But he‘d offered only that in explanation and trying to get information out of him was like pumping a dry well. The man had even more control over his words and expressions than spymaster Wells did.

'See you soon,' she said to Thorson.

With a short nod of dismissal, he turned away and bent over the small desk tucked in a corner.

Nice meeting you too, she thought to his back and— oh, God. A picture of Lachlan stood on the desk. The kid stood on a mountain peak, wind ruffling his hair. Laughing. Healthy. The grief that ripped through her stopped her breath.

She opened her mouth to tell the old man about his grandson, how fucking brave he‘d been, how—

No. I can"t. Lachlan‘s grandfather would have to wait until she finished investigating. She‘d sidestepped telling Wells about these...creatures and now the burden was on her to be certain they didn‘t present a danger to the rest of the world, or at least to the United States citizens she‘d promised to protect.

Joe Thorson was obviously a shifter. A really unhappy, vengeful werecat. If she revealed information about Lachlan‘s murder, the old guy would probably try to kill her again. Once was plenty for that dance.

As isolated as the town was, if they kicked her out—or killed her—getting another agent in place would be very difficult. She was here. Investigation first, then Lachlan‘s grandfather.

He glanced up from his paperwork, eyebrows raised.

She gave him a curt nod and left.

Chapter Eight

She finished her two books in three days and headed back to the bookstore, zipping up her new fleece-lined, jean jacket. At least she‘d gotten in some shopping after seeing the base doctor yesterday. Reinhardt thought her knee was healed, but wouldn‘t commit himself until the lab and x-ray reports came in. Perhaps that was good—she needed time to finish up here.

Leaves crackled under