Page 55 of Fire Dancer
Her lips wobbled a little. I hated to spook her, but she had to understand this was serious.
“I promise.” She looked at me for a minute, and I braced myself for abut.
Instead, she rocked on her heels, then threw her arms around me and held me tight.
The contact was the best feeling, but the scariest too. Something was up, and we both knew it.
I closed my eyes, soaking in the positive part of the feeling. Then I leaned away, because it was time to go.
Pippa searched my eyes for a long, silent moment. I wavered too, then gave in and kissed her. Hard and long, on the lips, letting her know how much I loved her. How much I’d missed her. How much I regretted.
Pippa sighed, and her body relaxed against mine. Everything but the lips, which kept massaging mine.
My inner wolf howled in joy and relief.
But a passing car tooted, and someone cheered, making us break apart.
“Asshole,” Pippa muttered. Then her eyes went wide. “Him, I mean! Not you.”
My lips curled. “Does that mean I might get another kiss later?”
She chuckled, all coy. “Maybe.”
A smile stretched my cheeks — the biggest I’d managed in years, it seemed like.
She closed her eyes briefly, warring with herself. “I have to go…”
The way she said it — all sad and regretful — gave me hope.
I popped a goodbye kiss on her lips.
“See you soon,” I said, biting back another,Be careful.
“Soon,” she promised, patting me on the chest.
I watched her go, then blew out a deep breath. My mind filled with multiple trains of thought — many more than tracks to organize them with. But another deep breath narrowed my focus to the one that took priority.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. Not the agency. Captain Edwards had made it perfectly clear I couldn’t count on agency support regarding Jananovich. Which didn’t leave me with many aboveboard options.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t have other resources. And the agency wasn’t the only force to be reckoned with when it came to supernatural activity in this area.
The phone rang. Once…twice…three times.
Finally, my contact picked up. “Williams here.”
I turned away from the street and kept my voice low. “This is Kemper.” I hesitated, knowing full well I was risking my career. “We need to meet. It’s urgent.”
The man on the other end of the line processed that for a moment before answering. “Meeting in an official capacity?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly.”
The ensuing pause was so long, I worried he’d hung up. But then he spoke. “When?”
“As soon as possible. With you and, ideally, your boss.”
Another excruciating wait. Then, finally, a reply. “I’ll see what I can do. But no guarantees.”
My laugh was dry. Nothing was guaranteed in my line of work.