Talent leaned forward a fraction. “Who was Keating? Before?”
“Johannes Maxum.” Wilde pulled a paper from his file and handed it to Talent. “He’s an older shifter. Date of birth unknown, but he once worked as an alchemist for Augustus the Strong in the quest to discover the Chinese’s secret to making porcelain.”
Talent scanned the page, then set it down. Protocol dictated that he hand the paper to Mary, and she might have been insulted at his obvious slight, had she not been expecting it. No matter, she’d read about Maxum as well. Besides, Talent’s juvenile tactics would not cow her.
In any event, Director Wilde was now looking at both of them. “Research has been instructed to provide any and all assistance you might require.”
“Thank you, Director,” Mary said. “We shall keep you informed as the case proceeds.”
Talent’s jaw snapped up as if he’d been punched. “We?”
The force of his inner agitation was a maelstrom creaking against the walls. Any moment now it would break. Mary remained calm. “We are to be partners now, Master Talent. Or haven’t you been paying attention?” And I will stick to you like a barnacle until I find out the truth.
The small vein at his temple pulsed. “I work alone. Always have.”
Wilde laid a hand over the file. “There is a time to every purpose under the heaven, Master Talent. Which includes knowing when to receive help.” The steely look in the director’s eyes made it clear that Talent would find no leeway should he protest.
The sound of Talent’s teeth grinding filled the room. “I was under the impression Mistress Chase was here in a clerical capacity.”
“You hoped,” Mary corrected. “Otherwise, I have grave concerns regarding your propensity for jumping to conclusions.”
Talent leaned his weight on the table as his gaze bore into her. “Keep baiting me, Chase, and you’ll find out what else I have a propensity for.”
She leaned in as well, until they faced each other like dogs in a pit ring. “I am quaking in my knickers.”
“There you go, mentioning your knickers.” His mouth slanted, and his eyes gleamed dark green. “What I cannot discern is if you only do so to me, or if you want the whole of the SOS to be thinking about them.”
“Why, Master Talent, are you trying to tell me that you think about my knickers?”
His lips pinched so tight that she had to bite back a grin. A low growl rumbled from the vicinity of his chest.
“Children.” Director Wilde’s expression was stern, but his eyes held a glint of amusement. “The discussion is over. You will work together on this.” His good humor fled. “And you will not fail the SOS. Now”—he motioned to the door with his chin—“take your squabble out of here. Perhaps you can pull Mistress Chase’s braids in the common room, Master Talent.”
* * *
On the outside, Mary knew she appeared serene as she left the meeting room. On the inside, however, she quivered in anticipation. For years she and Talent had detested each other. He treated her as if she were some low, conniving wretch. Solely because she was a GIM. Lousy, arrogant bounder.
The outer hall was cool and quiet. A calm before the inevitable storm. And that storm was right on her heels. Although, in truth, Jack Talent reminded her more of a panther, all dark and brooding, his powerful body so still when at rest, yet capable of instant, violent action.
Mary headed down the corridor, knowing that, while he made no sound, Talent stalked her. The skin at the back of her neck prickled, and her heart whirred away within her breast. With his shifter’s senses, he’d hear her spinning heart, she was sure. Oh, yes, come and get me, and we shall see how well you dance around the truth now, Jack Talent. It was torture not to quicken her step or turn around.
By the time she reached the shadowed corner that led to another section of headquarters, her breast was rising and falling in agitation. Damn him.
And damn her too, for some small, traitorous part of her liked the chase, reveled in it. Gripping her weapon, she waited until his heavy hand fell upon her shoulder, and then she spun.
He grunted as they both hit the wall. The hard expanse of his chest barely gave under her weight as she pressed against him. For a moment they both panted, then his gaze lowered to the knife she had at his throat.
She had expected his rage, but not his grin, that wide, brilliant grin that lit up his dour features and did strange things to her equilibrium. His cheeky smile grew as he spoke. “Pulling iron on me, Chase? How bloodthirsty.” His hot breath fanned her cheeks. “I knew you had it in you.”
She did not ease her grip. Training with Poppy Lane had honed her skills. The slightest move from him, and he would be tasting that iron. “Trying to intimidate me, Talent?”
His body tightened, but he kept his hands at his sides. “What the devil are you playing at? You aren’t a field agent. You’ve been hanging on to Mrs. Lane like a limpet, and now you want to partner.” He leaned in, not flinching when the tip of her iron blade cut into his skin. “With me.”
A rivulet of crimson blood trickled down his throat. She tore her gaze away from it. “This is the most important case the SOS has seen all year. Any regulator would be mad to pass up the opportunity to take it.” When he snorted, she gave him a pretty smile. “Who my partner is makes little difference.”
His lips pressed into a flat line. “This is my investigation. It always has been.”
From the moment she’d asked Poppy to be assigned to the case, she’d known she’d face his rage. But she’d told Talent the truth: Having the opportunity to move away from her assistant’s role into fieldwork was not to be missed. And if he was guilty of murder, she would be the one to take him down. Keeping that little personal victory in mind, it was easy to give him a bland look. “Oh yes, and you’ve done a bang-up job with the case so far.”
His growl seemed to vibrate through her, but Mary ignored it and the way the hairs lifted along the back of her neck. “What gave you reason to believe that it would remain yours alone after all this time, when you have nothing to show for your efforts?”
With an unfortunately easy move, he shrugged free. She let him; bodily contact was not a situation she wanted to prolong, as it was far too unsettling. He loomed over her. “Toss out what insults you will, Mistress Merrily.” He poked her shoulder with a hard finger. “But do not for a moment try to undermine me. You think I’m a bastard now, try handling me in a temper.”
He turned to storm off when she grabbed his lapel and hauled him back. Taking pleasure in the shock that parted his lips, she smiled. “I’ve seen your temper, Master Talent. You haven’t been privy to mine.” With lazy perusal, her gaze took in his heightened color and narrowed eyes. “While you’ll be shouting about like a tot who’s lost his lolly, I’ll be the lash you never saw coming.”
It was quite satisfactory to leave him openmouthed and silent—for once.