Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

“Since when has its involvement led to nothing?”

“She didn’t want us to wait, Aiden, and I didn’t want to call—”

“Because you were pissed off at me.”

“A statement that might or might not be true.”

He smiled. “I suspect there may be a mighty fine temper hidden beneath those well-controlled layers of yours.”

“Another thing that may or may not be true.” My answering smile didn’t last all that long. “But it doesn’t alter the fact I wanted to find out what we were dealing with before I pulled either you or whoever else was on call out of the celebrations. I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I appreciate that, but next time—”

“I’ll probably do exactly the same thing.”

“You,” he said heavily, “can be very bloody annoying at times.”

“So Belle keeps telling me.” I reached into my pocket and drew out the gold chain. “This was the wolf’s. I used it to track his location once we’d found his car.”

I dropped the chain into his palm. He studied it for a moment and then said softly, “I know three wolves who wear chains like this. It may sound horrible, but I hope our victim isn’t one of them.”

“For your sake, I hope so too.”

“It’s more for my father’s sake than mine.” His mouth twisted. “Death is never easy to accept, even at the best of times, but it’s always that much harder when it’s someone you knew or loved.”

/> Something I knew from experience. But at least Aiden wasn’t responsible for this death—and wouldn’t ever be held accountable for it.

I swallowed back the bitter sadness that accompanied the thought, and glanced past him as a paramedic appeared.

“Ranger, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. We need to get Ms. Grace to the hospital.”

Aiden nodded and rose. “I’ll get your full statement once you’re cleared by the hospital. Until then, try to behave.”

“It’s not me you have to worry about,” I grumbled, “but rather the bad guys intent on havoc.”

“Them I can cope with. It’s you getting caught in the middle that worries me.” He kissed me tenderly but all too briefly. “So please stay out of trouble, and we’ll talk again soon.”

He left. Once the paramedic climbed in, the doors were closed and I was quickly whisked over to the hospital. They did a CT scan, ran all manner of other tests, and then decided they’d better keep me for the next forty-eight hours just to be on the safe side. But as Belle reminded me a number of times over the long days that followed, better that than discovering way too late that I was bleeding internally.

The day after Boxing Day—and after another full battery of tests to ensure nothing untoward was happening to my insides—they finally declared me fit enough to leave. Belle came to collect me and, after checking on Ashworth—who was rather hopeful of also being released, despite the fact the orthopedic surgeon had only operated on his arm yesterday—we headed home.

The first thing I did was take an extremely long, extremely hot shower. It helped ease the lingering aches and made me feel a lot better. While I’d been able to shower in the hospital, it was never the same as your own. A quick look in the mirror revealed a rainbow assortment of bruises blooming over my right shoulder and a good portion of my breast, but for the most part that was the worst of it. The cut on my chin hadn’t been deep enough to require stitches, and the multitude of scratches I’d gotten from the flying glass were barely visible. Once again, lady luck had been on my side.

It was nearing midday by the time I finally clattered down to the café. Belle had been busy in the kitchen while I’d been upstairs, and there was a huge spread of ham, turkey, salad, thickly cut buttered bread, gravy, and cranberry sauce laid out on one of the tables. There was also the traditional large jug of very potent eggnog, and one of Michael Bublé’s many Christmas CDs playing softly in the background.

“This,” I said happily, “all looks fabulous.”

“A late celebration is better than none.” She held out a brightly colored Christmas cracker. “And I have news to celebrate.”

“What news?”

“Traditions before explanations.” She waved the cracker at me.

I grinned. We’d long ago decided to not to give each other Christmas—or even birthday—presents, but silly things like cracker hats, Christmas carols, and eggnog—like our singing and dancing on Christmas Eve—had become something of a ritual. I grabbed the other end of the cracker and pulled. There was a faint pop as the cracker split, leaving Belle with the main portion of it. She pulled out the purple paper hat and shoved it on her head while I picked up the other cracker so we could repeat the process. My hat was a vivid pink. I shoved it on and ignored her snort of amusement. “Give with the news, woman.”

“The council has rejected the witch who was coming here to be interviewed on the grounds that if he couldn’t manage to make a damn plane, he wasn’t likely to be a good match for this reservation.”

I picked up the eggnog and poured us both a glass. “And how did you discover this when all three packs are coming off a two-day celebration and are likely to be hunkered down in their compounds sleeping it all off?”