Pure Desire [Pure 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) (4 page)

Noor wiped his hand down his face and sighed heavily. “This isn’t going to be easy. I have to travel to the past, find a woman, convince her I’m not nuts, and bring her back to Sanguine.”

Sterns gave him a mocking leer, saying, “I know you have a way with the ladies, Rynoir, so this task should be a piece of cake.”

The best course of action was to ignore his superior’s ignorance. Besides, he learned to choose his battles with the idiot early on in his career.

“If I fail—”

“We all fail, and may the Immaculate Providence have mercy on our souls,” Guardian DeFornay murmured.

* * * *

Noor walked down the tiled corridor, concentrating on the sound of his boots tapping over the floor. He must be certifiably insane to accept an asinine assignment and crazier to think he could pull it off. He couldn’t just waltz into the future and search for a woman with what little information he had obtained about her identity, a birthmark and a surname she might possibly be using. As far as he knew, there could be several Deverills living somewhere in Texas with starcrest birthmarks on their hips. What would happen when he found her? How would it go from there? There was much to consider with the special circumstances traveling to the future presented.

“Well, if it isn’t Noor Rynoir.”

He stopped, hearing the familiar sultry voice behind him. Denny materialized out of nowhere. He searched the hallway to see what office she might have come from, wondering what she was doing at the agency at this hour. Nothing immediately came to mind, except she worked within the agency and her husband’s office was located in the building, meaning she had a reason to be there, just like him. It would have been nice if he hadn’t run into her, though. Not now, not when he had a boatload of crap on his mind. He didn’t have time for Denny’s antics.

“Hello, Denny, what have you been up to? How’s the job?” He didn’t care. He had to make idle chatter to be respectful, and then burn rubber away from her before Sterns appeared. So not what he needed—especially if he didn’t care to risk becoming a plastic baggie if Sterns got his way.

“It’s a job, right? You know as well as me you just function in our line of work. There’s not much time to think about our orders. How we accomplish assignments. Perhaps in the scheme of things, it’s wise not to decipher some of our actions too closely.”

She slinked closer and instincts told Noor to run.

“I understand. It’s our life, right?”

Denny ogled him suggestively, her gaze locked on his crotch for an uncomfortable minute.

He focused on her forehead.

“Are you working late again? Surely you have more entertaining things to do with your time?” She licked her lips with her tongue, moistening them. “I can think of few things you’d probably prefer doing right now.”

“No, I had some unofficial business to wrap up before I went on vacation,” he lied.

“I hear the agency is looking for someone to handle a top-secret assignment. Maybe your name is on the list for consideration. Whoever gets the assignment and is successful, I hear can right their ticket within the agency. You can get that promotion you deserve.”

He knew Denny was fishing. She might be married to Sterns, but he doubted they did any pillow-talk. He wasn’t going to confirm or deny her assumption. “We know your husband would rather cut off his arm than give me an assignment that might possibly elevate my status within the agency. He likes having me under his thumb.”

“He’s harmless.”

Noor smiled faintly. “He’s my superior.”

Denny touched his arm with familiarity and rubbed up against him like a feline in heat. “You don’t have to fear my husband. I can control him.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute. Well, I really have to go. It was nice seeing you again.” He removed her arm, stepped back, turned to leave, and then exited before Denny could make another move. The woman had tentacles, and he didn’t fathom being suctioned into her games of deceit now anymore than before.

He had too much on his mind and didn’t need the complications of Denny to add to his current concerns.

There was a certain woman in Texas he needed to concentrate on. He speculated about his assignment and didn’t think it was an impossible mission. Of course, there would be complications and situations he’d have to adapt to and make it work. Nothing he hadn’t encountered undercover before, he thought, then dismissed his worries thinking how difficult could it be to secure one woman?

Chapter Three

Legend, Texas, 1800s

Channing looked at Harland knowing he was going to beat some sense into the idiot this time. Matt Graham had raised a spoiled hell-raiser who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Normally, he managed to ignore Harland’s constant childish harassments and didn’t entertain the buffoon. This time, Harland and the nasty cohorts by his side raised the ante by ambushing him and sticking guns in his face.

The twig-thin man with squinty eyes and a bad case of dandruff said, “You gonna kill ’em or what?”

Sonofabitch!
Channing reared back, his gaze darting back and forth between the men before settling on Harland intensely. The twig’s comment solidified in his mind Harland finally lost all control of what little faculties he believed remained in his head. Harland liked to play crude games by taunting him for mere amusement. When he was in good humor and cared to practice his fighting techniques, he entertained the idiot, and their squabbles ended with him beating Harland to a pulp and sending him home to lick his wounds. Today, the dynamics of their encounters apparently changed and turned more sinister.

Harland was young. His curly blond hair and pale blue eyes gave him the appearance of innocence, but he saw the ominous glint in his eyes, an indication the shrewd features, which manifested and hardened the lines of his face crudely, said it all.

“You’re making a mistake, Harland. Think about what you are considering. This is stupid, and if you persist, I will seek restitution,” Channing said in a flat tone as his eyes flickered from man to man.

Harland responded by slamming a fist into his stomach. He doubled over and sucked in air, shook it off, and stared up at him. “Why don’t we handle this the normal way? You can attempt to best me, I will knock some sagacity—that means reasonableness—in your thick skull, and you can go home to daddy alive,” Channing said with a smile that wasn’t a smile at all.

“Hit ’em again. Teach the redskin savage a lesson,” another man said.

Channing eyed the man who used the derogatory term, thinking Harland first and him second.

Harland made another move, ramming his fist into his stomach again, and then retreated to deliver another blow. Channing fought to get free from the two men holding him. Seeing Harland raise his arm upward, he came down with a wide swing, and the punch, hard and centered, made him wobble.

“Bastard,” Channing said. The word came out like a hiss. He jerked from the men and lunged at Harland, tackled him to the ground, and pinned him there. Harland was squirming. He pressed down harder, digging his knee into his chest. “To think I gave you credit for being mildly sensible.”

In comparison, they weren’t equals. Harland was a snot nosed imbecile who he outweighed by pounds, strength, and instructions in the art of several types of fighting maneuvers. Harland fought like an awkward adolescent accustomed to rolling around in the dust in some schoolyard. It wasn’t as if he had any compassion for Harland now that he chose his fate, but there was something about harming the boy that unsettled him. Maybe if Matt Graham took a strap to the boy, he might grow up to be a decent man.

Within thirty seconds, the thought evaporated as Harland twisted, squirmed, and managed to draw his gun and shove it in his face. The clicking sound of a cocked pistol made Channing freeze. A leer surfaced on Harland’s face.

“I see you’ve gotten smarter,” Channing said coolly.

“Or you’ve gotten dumber.” Harland snickered. He waved the gun back and forth. “Now, back the fuck up.”

Channing stepped back, stood, and watched Harland spring to his feet. He kept his eyes trained on the weapon. When Harland came at him, he ducked just in time to keep the butt of the gun from smashing into his skull. Swiftly, he retaliated, kicking out his leg in a wide sweep and driving his boot into Harland’s knee, and he went down. The gun flew from his hand and landed on the ground between them.

He made a dash for it, Harland scrambled, and their bodies collided with a thud and locked in a fierce battle of determination. Harland feinted with a right and Channing swiped the blow away with a flick of his hand. The move left him unbalanced and gave Harland a chance. He didn’t see the knife but felt the sting and looked down, seeing blood spread on his slashed shirtsleeve.

“I’m done with this game,” Channing snarled. Ignoring the knife and anything in his path, blindly he lunged at Harland and grabbed him by the throat. “You stupid slim,” he spat. He head butted Harland and caused him to stumble backwards and hit the ground on his butt. Channing loomed over him…ready to strike and end the ordeal when blaring pain shot through the back of his head.

“Get the rope, boys,” somebody spoke. He couldn’t figure out which one. The voice was garbled and merged into the dull ache shooting into his temples.

He blinked, trying to adjust his vision, and watched the outline of fuzzy shapes looming above as the gang stood over him. They stared down at him with their lips curled into snarls, appearing as the vicious wolves they were.

“Just shoot ’em and be done, Harland.”

“No, this injun don’t deserve a quick execution. He should swing for raping my sister Caroline and putting a bastard in her belly.”

Channing shook his head, trying to fight off the wave of nausea and focus on what he heard—rope meant Harland intended to hang him.
Caroline lied through her teeth.
This is why Harland lost it.
He struggled to move, groaned, fell backward, and grunted when somebody shoved a boot that felt like a sledgehammer into his chest.

“If you shoot ’em, you can claim he drew first. Sheriff Jacob might believe it.”

Harland glared at the twig and hissed. “Shut your fucking mouth, Petey. You’re a dimwit anyway because everybody knows this redskin is the fastest gun this side of Texas. Now, get moving and toss a rope over the highest limb of a tree. Make the noose nice and tight for my friend here,” Harland said. And then he added, “On second thought, if the bastard has to struggle a bit, it will provide more entertainment.” He snickered and yanked Channing up by the collar. He pulled him close and he could smell the cheap whiskey and stale tobacco on his breath. “We have been playing this game for some time now, redskin. I rather enjoyed it, but you upped the stakes when you put your despicable hands on Caroline. My sister was a nice and decent young woman until you soiled her with your dirty injun cock.”

Channing managed to fight through the daze and raise his head. He glared at Harland. “If it’s any consolation, I would rather bed with a rattler than touch Caroline. If she is with child, it isn’t mine,” he said tersely.

“Are you calling my sister a whore?” Harland fumed.

“She certainly isn’t a saint.”

Harland had never been able to manage his temper, to the point Channing knew one day, it would be self-destructive, and his lack of control would be the reason for his demise. He shifted his attention to see what the others were doing, and then focused on Harland, who cursed up a storm. Apparently, so far into his childish tantrum, he had lost focus. It was just the opportunity needed, and he intended to take full advantage.

Blowing out air, he ignored the screaming pain and went after Harland with a vengeance. Harland’s squeal alerted the others there was trouble. By the time the three men whirled around, Channing’s fingers were digging into Harland’s larynx, cutting off his oxygen. “I prefer to handle matters amicably, but obviously you like to do things dirty. I don’t take kindly to you wanting to hang me for an offense I didn’t commit,” Channing breathed.

“Shoot the bastard!”

The twig with the nasty mouth withdrew his pistol and aimed. A shot rang out and echoed through the quietness. The next actions were a dizzying whirlwind of activity. Everybody seemed to move at once, Channing ducked and rolled, and another
pop pop
sounded. There was a blur of movement…Channing had Harland’s gun in his hand. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. The gun jammed.

“You always had a cheap taste in weapons,” Channing said. He tossed the gun aside.

“You lose, injun,” Harland said. He caught the rifle his partner tossed to him. “I would prefer to see you dangling from a tree, but the gunshots might send someone coming, and I can’t afford to be seen. You get to die the easy way, with a bullet between your eyes.”

Channing stared at him unflinching.

The crackle of gunfire vibrated, smoke lingered in the air, and then Channing watched Harland drop dead. Before he could assess who had made the shot, another rung out, and the twig clutched his chest and toppled over, falling face first into the dirt. He whirled around as another gunshot sounded, the bullet whizzed by his head too close for comfort, and then he heard the thud as the final assailant fell.