Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Billy repressed a jaunty whistle as he went back to his truck. Things were looking up. Not only was Amalie sharp as a tack, but she was easy on the eyes as well. Funny, intelligent, a bit stubborn and gorgeous, she made his inner lion want to sit up and roar in approval. Or need. At this point, he wasn't exactly sure.

He just knew he was attracted to the lovely Amalie. More than he'd been to any woman. Ever.

That thought might have scared him if he hadn't just seen his older brother's mating. Rich was so disgustingly happy with his mate, he was almost unbearable. If anything other than a true mating had caused a rift between the brothers, Billy would have been mad about it. But how could he begrudge his brother such ultimate happiness when they'd had such hard lives?

He couldn't. And neither could Colt, their younger brother. They'd always worked as a trio, but with Rich mated, the band had definitely broken up. There were no hard feelings, though.

He'd texted both his brothers to report he'd made it to Ohio safely. Colt was standing by, prepping for a mission of his own that would start in a few days. Rich was acting as home base for them, keeping track of things and providing assistance with research and whatever else he could do remotely for his brothers.

It was weird to not have him—both of them, really—here, but it was also kind of liberating as well. It was a challenge to do things mostly on his own, and Billy loved a good challenge. The fact that he'd be spending time with the most fascinating woman he'd ever met was a bonus. A great big, beautiful bonus, to his mind.

He grabbed some things from his truck, including a toolbox and the surveillance gear he'd packed along, and headed back to Amalie's garden. She was waiting for him with a cute little pink box with flowers on it, her orange cat perched at her side. She opened the pink toolbox, laying it flat on the patio table to display a little collection of what to him looked like child-sized tools, all with pink handles and grips. He just shook his head, tempted to laugh, but refraining.

In there was a set of pink-handled screwdrivers, sure enough, which she reached for, removing them from their little foam—pink, of course—compartments. She brandished one in each hand and looked up at him.

"Straight or cross?" she asked in all seriousness.

"Cross?" It took him a moment to think what she meant. "Do you mean Phillips head?"

"Is that what it's called?" She shrugged. "I just go by the shape of the grooves on the top of the screws."

"Well, I guess that's accurate," he allowed as he put his own much larger toolbox on the table across from hers. "But it was a man named Phillips who pushed the design, though another man invented it. It was car manufacturers, I think, back in the 1940's, who really took to the design because it was easier for assembly lines. Slotted, or straight line, screws took longer to center, and the cross design made it simpler and faster to get the screwdriver toolhead into the slot. The name stuck though, and even to this day, everybody calls them Phillips head screws."

"Huh." She put her hands on her hips as if truly interested. He hadn't expected that. Most of the time, when he came out with the odd bits of trivia his mind liked to collect, his brothers just rolled their eyes at him. "That's kind of fascinating." She smiled at him, and he didn't think she was teasing. He smiled back, feeling a bit shy.

"I like history," he mumbled. "And tools, obviously."

"Obviously," she agreed, eyeing the collection of tools in his giant toolbox once he had it open. "I don't even know what some of those things are."

He laughed outright. "That's okay," he assured her. "You'd probably never have need to use half this stuff in your normal course of business, but in my line of work, I like to be prepared for just about anything."

"Line of work? I thought you were a soldier," she said, going back to her own toolbox and lifting out the cutest little set of pink-handled pliers he'd ever seen.

"I am." He stopped and corrected himself. "I was." He shook his head. "Sorry. We just retired recently, and it's still kind of hard to get used to the idea that I'm just a civilian."

"You make that sound like there's something wrong with being a civilian. And I didn't think soldiers were Mr. Fix-Its. I thought you would know more about guns than tools."

"A gun is a tool," he said, looking up to meet her gaze. "Just like this Phillips head screwdriver." He gave her a lopsided smile. "And for the record, there's nothing wrong with being a civilian. I'm just not used to it yet. We've been through a lot of changes in a short span of time. There's a lot to process."

"There's that we again. Who's we?" she asked gently.

"My brothers and I always worked as a team. But as I mentioned earlier, Rich just found his mate, and Colt and I are both doing missions on our own. Rich is backing us up with research help and other things, but it's not the same as having them both here, on mission, with me," he admitted.

Why was he telling her these things? They'd only just met. But she seemed like the kind of person he could talk to, which was a rarity in Billy's life. As the middle brother, he often kept his mouth shut and navigated between the two stronger personalities of the oldest and the youngest. Not that he was a pushover. He simply liked to keep his own counsel.

His interests were different than those of his brothers. He liked odd factoids, as they called them. He liked modern history from the Industrial Revolution onward. He liked tools, as he'd told Amalie, and tinkering with things to make them better. He'd even quietly invented a few things that Uncle Sam had used to improve certain weapons systems. Had a few patents on that tech too. Not that his brothers cared.

The money from those patents went into a separate bank account Billy used to fund further research. One day, he'd promised himself, when he was retired, he'd build himself a real lab with that money and tinker to his heart's content.

He just hadn't expected to retire so young. And he wasn't really fully retired. He was still running missions, like this one, on a contractual basis for Admiral Morrow. Though, now that Rich was mated, Billy might consider cutting back his real-world missions even more. Maybe it was nearly time to start looking for a place to build that lab he'd always dreamed of… Maybe.

Another thought he'd have to get used to. Damn. The changes were coming hard and fast. It was like being at the center of a whirlwind and not knowing where it was going to dump you out. Billy just hoped he'd still be on his feet when things finally calmed down.

"That's got to be a rough adjustment," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to help…"

"It's fine," he replied, touched by her gentle offer. "I just have to deal with all the changes and keep moving forward."

"Improvise, adapt, and overcome," she said, surprising him. "Is that what Clint Eastwood said in that old movie?"

He cocked his head and considered her words. "You like old war movies?"

She nodded. "Some of them. I like the really old ones best."

"What's your favorite?" Damn if this woman wasn't unexpected and intriguing.

"I'd have to say Patton . George C. Scott did a masterful job, and the visuals are really striking," she replied at once.

"The famous speech in front of the giant flag? Yeah," he agreed. "That's a classic."

He pulled out some of the gear and took one of the mini cams out of its box. He handed it to her, and she examined it in detail.

"It's so tiny," she exclaimed.

"Tiny and powerful," he replied. Sorta like her, he suspected, though he didn't give voice to his thoughts. "It has a wide angle, infrared and audio. Once we get it into position and camouflage it a little, only a real pro will be able to detect it."

"Neat. Where do you mount something like this? In a tree or something?"

"Yeah, tree trunk will do, if you don't mind a little damage to the bark. We can chisel out a small spot for it, and it'll be nearly undetectable."

"It runs on a battery?" She turned it around as if to look for the power source. "How long can that last? And how do you change it?"

"The battery lasts about a year with average use," he told her. "As for changing it…" He held out his hand, and she placed the little camera into it. He popped the tiny slot on the back, showing her the thin round metallic disk that was this model's battery. "They sell these in most hardware stores, or you can get them online. Simple to replace, and the software will tell you when the power is running low in plenty of time to arrange receipt of a replacement battery." He put the camera down and unboxed another miniature device with a small, clear dome. "Now, this is a motion sensor. We can set it for various sensitivities so it won't pick up every squirrel or chickadee that wanders through your garden but will warn you of anything larger."

She took the device from him and took a close look at it. "It's amazing how small these things are." She blinked up at him. "And they really work?"

He nodded. "They really do. Better than the older, larger models, in fact."

They spent the rest of the afternoon working together. She helped him place some of the gear, and he showed her how to access the feeds on her phone. By the time they finished covering most of the perimeter, it was time for dinner. They ate on the patio. She served the stew, taking only a small portion for herself and giving him the lion's share, he noticed. She ate most of the salad, though he had a little to be polite. They talked about the security setup and the events that had taken place on Long Island the day before.

By the time dinner was over and they sat talking over coffee, Billy noticed he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. When he yawned for the second time, she put her coffee cup down.

"All right, I can tell you're about to crash. Let me show you the guest room so you can at least get into bed before you start snoring." Her smile softened her words as she stood. He rose as well, lifting his coffee cup, intending to help her clean up the remains of their meal, but she shook her head. "I'll do that. You're about to collapse into a heap, and you'll get a crick in your neck if you end up sleeping on my kitchen floor. You're too big for me to move."

"I'm not going to pass out. I'm a light sleeper," he told her, but did as she asked and lowered the cup and saucer to the table.

"You won't be tonight. And probably for part of tomorrow. I'm not sure how it will affect a shifter, but you're going to crash hard at first. Trust me."

He didn't think he would, but he agreed. When he expected her to usher him into her house, she did the opposite and made for the back of the garden where he'd noticed a shed earlier. She was going to make him sleep in the shed? Really? He'd thought they were beyond all that. But he was the interloper here, and he followed her lead, wanting to see where she was taking him.

When she opened the door of the shed and went in, he was truly surprised. It was larger than it looked from the outside and done up like a little cottage. There was a desk in front of the small window, and when she flipped on the lamp, he saw a daybed covered in luxurious, dark velvet along the far wall. It looked just big enough to fit him, and right now, it looked like heaven as his eyelids began to lower of their own volition. Maybe there was something to her claims about him crashing after all.

She went to the bed and removed the velvet cover to reveal a down comforter and cotton sheets in a tawny color. Amalie took the pillows that had been on either end of the bed and put them together at the side facing the doorway, just as he'd have wished. Then, she stood back.

"Make yourself at home," she invited, gesturing toward the bed.

Billy had brought his small duffel bag from his truck when he'd parked it at the back of her property at her suggestion. He'd kept it under the patio table all night but had brought it with him when she showed him to the shed. He had everything he'd need for an overnight stay including clothes, communications gear and his laptop. He dropped it beside the bed and sat down. It was soft and inviting, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open while she moved to the foot of the bed.

"This is your bathroom," she told him, opening the door and flipping on the light to reveal an empty shower stall, toilet, and small sink.

"Handy," he observed.

"They advertised this as the guest house when I rented the place. Really, it's just a glorified she shed. I heard the previous owner worked from home, and this was her office," Amalie explained. "Now, lay down, and I'll check on you in the morning." She walked to the door. "Sweet dreams," she said, smiling in that sexy way she had that set his blood on fire. Then she walked out and shut the door.

Billy made himself rise to watch her progress through the garden out the small window. He wouldn't rest until he was sure she was back in the house. He opened the window so he could hear a little better. She walked through the garden as if she hadn't a care in the world and looked like something out of a fairy tale. A wood sprite, or an elf, prancing through the woods.

Even the fireflies seemed to come out to greet her as she passed. Now, that was some magical shit if he'd ever seen any. He began to wonder if she had some sort of elemental power, but that didn't feel quite right to his lion. She had magic, he was sure, but he still didn't really know what kind.

Her long blonde hair waved in the soft breeze as she made it to the patio, where her cat joined her, stalking out of the bushes by the garage. She bustled around on the patio for a moment, gathering the coffee cups and other items onto a tray, then headed inside with the orange cat at her side. As she returned to the back door a moment later, he heard the snick of the lock, and she gave him a little wave then closed the curtain on the window. He heard the alarm system hum into its on position a moment later.

"Good girl," he murmured to himself as he dragged his ass into the bathroom. He got ready for bed, tired to his bones, and just had time to shuck his clothes before he got into the inviting bed. She'd been right about him crashing, was the last thought he had before sleep overtook him.