Miranda's Mate Read Free

would be welcome, but it could wait. She pitched face down on the bed and was asleep in seconds.

Chapter 2
    Garen LeRochefort gripped his satellite phone so hard the plastic dug into his hand. He’d been relieved when his operatives confirmed Miranda’s plane was safe in New York City, but his relief was short-lived.
    “Goddammit it all to hell.” He snapped the phone shut.
    People in the upscale lounge shot disapproving glances his way. Before he could scream at them that anyone who frequented a bar at six in the morning was a goddamned drunk, Garen melted out of the bar. He had no idea where Miranda was or even if she was still alive. He could call her, but her phone would likely be off. She was a good agent, and she followed protocols. One of the first was to keep communications gadgets not just off but also fully powered down since they could be used as tracking devices.
    He laced his fingers together and squeezed until his hands ached. She’d been the obvious choice to send against Derek Roulan, head of the largest human trafficking ring on the globe. Roulan called his business International Success Ltd.—shortened to ISL—but the only one in the organization who succeeded was Roulan himself. Derek had an eye for ladies, and Miranda was one of the most exotic creatures Garen had ever laid eyes on. None of his male operatives would have stood a chance of getting close enough to Derek to handle him. His other females weren’t nearly as seductive.
    Garen debated retreating to his hotel room on the thirty-fifth floor. Instead, he opted for a walk. It was cold and sleeting in early morning Boston, but he needed something to quell the fury racing through him. Pavement glistened in the light of a new day. Water ran down his face; he ignored it.
    Garen was head of The Company. Years before he’d tried to come up with an apt name for his international security firm without much luck. After all, what euphemism would describe the dirty wet work he and his employees did? He’d actually thought it the joke of the century when much more modern spy operations had adopted his company name. Never mind he’d been in business under one guise or another since just before the American Revolution. Operating an undercover business was extremely useful to mask his long life—and come up with new documentation each time he faded out of one identity and into another. Nearly all his employees were lycans like him, but a few were other types of shifters. All of them were long-lived.
    The bottom line was no one became a full-fledged company employee unless they had supernatural abilities. He’d tried to figure Miranda out ever since she’d hired on, with no luck. At times, he’d been close, but she was wily, that one. She always slammed up a diversion to keep him out of her secret places. Damn if he didn’t want into those secret places—all of them. He imagined her long legs locked around his hips and groaned. None of this was helping. Indulging himself with one of his employees would be just plain stupid. So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?
    Garen did his damnedest to latch onto a shred of objectivity. He wouldn’t do Miranda any good if he couldn’t think straight. He sucked in a cold, soggy breath and followed it with another. It wasn’t accidental he was in Boston. He’d wanted to be closer to the East Coast in case something happened in Amsterdam and he needed to catch a plane there. Hell, he would have staked out a presence in Europe, but he was too well-known. He didn’t want his misplaced over-protectiveness to send up red flags that might end up killing his operative. Miranda could travel unnoticed. He couldn’t.
    He shook his head. After this assignment, assuming he got Miranda back in one piece, he’d have to rethink just how invisible she was. It was apparent Roulan’s gang was after her. Deep inside, his wolf growled. It wanted to kill anything that might harm Miranda. He did what he could to calm it