a Touch of Intrigue by L. j. Charles Read Free Book Online Page B

note.
    He lowered his weapon, but his shoulder muscles hiked up a notch, and he blew out a pissed-off sigh. “Just fuck.”
    I did not lower the Kimber. That was two fucks in less time than it took me suck in a breath, and my intuition was screaming flashing, red warnings.
    “Come on in. I’m here to talk.”
    My brain hit flashpoint: male, rough resonant voice, probably carried some weight, Pierce didn’t like him. But damn it all to blue, bloody hell, Pierce knew him. “Fuck is right.” I stepped around him and scanned the kitchen. The man sat at the center island, buzzed white hair, ugly Hawaiian shirt, big hands, skewed cleft in his chin, eyes the same shade of mud brown as the coffee in front of him. No visible weapon. I lowered the Kimber. “Who the hell are you?”
    Pierce and the unknown dude answered simultaneously. Like they’d been practicing for months. “Fred.”
    Adrenaline surged through me, obliterating every spec of the training Annie, Whitney, and Adam had worked so hard to perfect. “Fred.” The whisper caught in my throat. “Fred.” A shout. Better. Much better. Not taking my focus away from the living embodiment of the person who starred in my most recent nightmares, I aimed my anger at the man I loved because he was the nearest target. And in deep shit. “And exactly how do you know Fred?”
    Fred, bless his heart, grinned. “Tell her Tap.”
    My glare lasered on Pierce. “Tap?” Yeah, it was another whisper, but this one held enough pissed-off female to have him back-step.
    Fred groaned. I glanced at him, catching the you-are-in-deep-shit grin he aimed at Pierce.
    My man tucked his gun in his waistband, and then motioned for me to hand him the Kimber. I handed it over, butt first, without comment. Pierce knew I wouldn’t shoot him, but there was no doubt he wanted me unarmed, and it would have been damn stupid to draw my line in the sand over a weapon I didn’t plan to fire. Adrenaline and raging anger aside, I tried not to be stupid. Whitney and Annie had spent a lot of hours breaking me of acting without thought—at least when there were lethal weapons involved.
    Knowing I was too angry to confront Pierce and come out the winner, I deliberately paced off the distance to Fred, using the time to catalog subtleties in his demeanor. Age-spotted hands loose around the coffee mug, relaxed facial muscles, cold, brown eyes pinning me with an alert gaze. Wizened. He had to be eighty, or so. I hadn’t spotted a weapon earlier—but I couldn’t see under the center island without bending, and I wanted to keep his face in sight. Tamping down my anger, I concentrated on the information I needed to know. “Why are you in my house? And how did you get through the maze?” I’d deal with the Tap issue later, even though questions were threatening to eat a hole in my curiosity.
    Fred held my gaze, sniffed, then took a long swallow of coffee.
    It gave Pierce time to move in and take a position at the end of the island, effectively between Fred and me.
    No surprise there, but this was my house, my turf, and my questions. “I’d love to threaten you, Fred. To be able to turn the dogs loose if you don’t speak up, but we don’t have K9s. Yet. On the other hand…” I drug out the words. “Pierce isn’t known for his sweet, forgiving nature. He’s younger, stronger, and better trained than anyone I’ve had the pleasure to fight. And he loves me. It’s a good guess he wants the answers as much as I do. Just saying.”
    Fred reared back, his laughter filling the room. “Oh, yes, Ms. Gray. I’m familiar with Tap’s training.” He took another swallow of coffee. “And yours.”
    A hot slice of fear cut right through my gut. I ignored it. “And?”
    “I make a mean pot of coffee. Pour yourself a cup and we’ll talk.”
    Every hair on my body prickled to attention. “Surely you know I wouldn’t consume anything you touched.”
    This time, Fred’s smile was genuine. “You’re a