But he still did.
“You can’t pretend—”
“I didn’t bite Lawrence,” Madoc said, as though that flash of jealousy were the problem. “She’s my colleague, she’s my partner until I get you to get off your ass, and she’s a good agent. That’s all. I don’t loveher, Took.”
Took knew what that meant. Even Lawrence—and heknewhe was being unfair—could tell what Madoc was ready to confess. It would be easy to draw it out, to turn a suggestion into a statement. Took just wasn’t ready to deal with a world where Madoc was maybe a breath away from saying who he did love.
“What was it that Dr. Forrester couldn’t tell me, then?” he changed the topic abruptly. “What did you find out?”
Chapter Twelve
MADOC WAStoo old to be a fool, but he could play one if he wanted. There was no one on this side of the world, not even the boyar he still served, who had the authority to bar him from that. He could ignore Took’s silent rejection of his declaration, the sticky taste of old fear that clung to his mouth from Took’s, and even resist the realization that his love for Took had done neither of them any favors.
Should he, though?
The only reason he’d let Took withdraw so totally, even handed over supervisory duties to West, was because he wanted to preserve something of that delicate not-quite-a-thing between them. Anyone else he’d have dragged out of their hermitage and done the due diligence that a man owed those beneath him.
His father’s morality. It made some old, still-petty part of Madoc cringe to realize that he hadn’t lived up to the low bar his father had set.
“We will talk about this.” He caught Took’s hand and lifted it to his mouth. His lips brushed over fight-scarred knuckles in a gesture that was half courtly and half courtship. “Later.”
There was a hint of bitterness in the corner of Took’s mouth as he tilted it in a smile. “Later is always convenient,” he said. Then he grimaced as though he’d accidentally caught himself on the jab. “After this is over, then we talk.”
Madoc wasn’t sure what to make of the grimness in Took’s voice. He wished there were time, but every discovery in this supposedly dead case pressed the accelerator on the investigation.
“Right now,” he said. “I’m putting you back on active duty.”
Took flinched and pulled his hand away. “You can’t do that.”
“You know that’s not true.”
Panic flashed through Took’s eyes as he shook his head. “I’mbroken, Madoc. What if I have a panic attack if I’m trapped somewhere? Or lose control in an armed situation. I can’t be trusted in the field.”
They were the same bullet-point excuses that Madoc received every time he queried when he’d get his agent back. He had lost patience with them a year ago, but he throttled back on his frustration the best he could—not particularly well, but it wasn’t something he’d ever cared to practice.
“Then stay out of the field,” he said flatly. “It isn’t as if I can’t replace you with any of the other Biters there. I have for the last two years.”
The flash of resentment that crossed Took’s face for a second was simultaneously hypocritical and reassuring. Whatever he might say about his unwillingness to get back in the field, he obviously didn’t expect anyone to agree.
“Then why bother?” Took asked.
Madoc reached up and tapped his fingertip against Took’s forehead, right between his eyes. “What’s in here,” he said. “I can find a dozen capable Anakim to throw on a Biter’s uniform, hold a gun, and pull the trigger. What’s in your gray matter is harder to train, and the boyars won’t let you near this case if you aren’t a paid-up agent.”
“I made a commitment to the Warings.”
“You need a payday that bad, I’ll give you a bonus,” Madoc snapped as his patience finally frayed. “You want to play Judas for the bigots? If you can live with it, go right ahead. Pretend they think you’re still a bleeder under the skin. I don’t care. All I care about is that I need your brain, or whatever is left of it after two years spent feeling sorry for yourself.”
That time Took didn’t bother to hide the glare. Anger made him look brutish as the open surfer-boy features tightened and piercing blue flashed from under heavy brows. It was probably a symptom of lovesickness that Madoc found that attractive.
“I thought Lawrence was your go-to expert now,” he said sullenly.
Madoc snorted. “Now you want me to pet your ego?” he asked as he stepped into Took’s space. He watched Took’s eyes flit over his face and then drop to his mouth, pupils dilated as a flush of hunger edged out the lust. “Fine, even with half a brain and twice as needy, you’re still a better profiler than Lawrence, but she’ll be your boss one day.”
That made Took’s eyes flick back up, and he snorted. “Like I’ll be in VINE by then. I have one more assessment to go, and then, temporary return to duty or not, I’m out.” He stepped back and tugged absently at his collar to pop the small ivory buttons. The hint of a bruise, a curve of ripe purple stain against tanned skin, made it Madoc’s turn to be distracted by the lust that flared to life in his balls. “If I do this, we treat the Waring family fairly. Nothing brushed under the rug, no evidence that gets buried because it would be embarrassing to overturn a verdict.”
“That’s not your call to make.”
The corner of Took’s mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m still making it.”
