Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(75)

And the man that currently held his debt.

The Kingmaker, for whatever reason, hadn’t hesitated in accepting an unnamed favor in exchange for his interference. Kyrnon may not have hesitated in agreeing to whatever the Kingmaker wanted, thinking back on it now, he didn’t like it.

There was nothing good about owing a man a debt, especially when one didn’t know what that debt would ultimately be. It could be as simple as running another job, or as complicated as performing a hit on a government official.

With the Kingmaker, there was no guarantee.

But that was a worry for another day. And if he were honest, he would agree to do it again.

“He is.”

“Some boss.” Amber was quiet a moment before asking, “Are we going back to your loft?”

He had brought her to another of his safe houses, this one outside of the city and right in the middle of a residential neighborhood where no one was the wiser that there were mercenaries that crashed there.

“Not right now.”

And not until he went over his security again.

He also needed to find out who gave up his safe house. The loft wasn’t listed anywhere. He was always careful to cover his tracks, so someone that knew its location had given it to Elora.

Kyrnon would find out who soon enough.

Reaching for him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight as she buried her face in his chest. “Thank you for saving me.”

Resting his chin on top of her head, he weaved his fingers in her hair, holding her close. “Don’t thank me for that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

He tilted her head up to better see her face. “Maybe so, but I only care whether or not you’ll stay.”

Amber pecked his lips. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course you do. What’s not to love?” He caught her hand as she attempted to hit him, stealing a kiss. “And I love you, Amber.”

“I guess that means you’re stuck with me.”

And he would have it no other way.



* * *



Six weeks later …



“In other news, two weeks have passed since the burglary at the Metropolitan Museum of Art where a priceless Vermeer painting was stolen. Said to be worth over four million dollars, the FBI is offering a reward for any information about the theft …”

Amber hardly paid attention to the news report as she stared at the duffel bags on Kyrnon’s bed. Ever since he suddenly announced to her that they would be taking a vacation, she had been rather giddy at the prospect, glad to be escaping New York for a while.

It had only taken Kyrnon a day after the incident with Elora to ask her to move in with him. She didn’t even get the chance to agree before he was packing up her place and bringing it all over to his place.

Not that she had minded.

His loft had always felt like home.

And once she had agreed to stay with him, he didn’t hide his work like he’d done before. More than once she had watched as he, and sometimes someone else, disappeared down into the War Room. But no matter what she saw, she never knew the details, and no matter how she asked, he didn’t divulge anything.

For the last week, whatever he had been working on had taken him away to a nameless country, and when he got back, there was a change in him, and for the first time she saw what his occupation could do to him.

After a long night spent trying to work out his frustration with her, he had finally announced the next morning that they were taking the trip to Ireland.

Except, while she had busied packing for it, he had been in and out of the place, but not adding a single piece of clothing to the luggage.

Finally figuring that it was up to her to do it, she grabbed some clothes for him as well and tossed them in. It was hard packing, especially when she had no clue exactly where in Ireland they were going, but she made it work.

When she heard a door slam, she yelled, “Were you planning on packing anything, or running around naked?”

“Come on out,” he called back, ignoring her question entirely.

“What are—” She cut off when she saw what he was standing beside with the stupidest grin on his face. “You didn’t …”

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

She should have known that he would do something like this, especially when she had told him how excited she had been when the Vermeer painting had gone on loan to the gallery.

“I’m not sure if these things are for me or you,” she said, still in awe as she came closer to the painting.

Kyrnon wasn’t shy about giving gifts, always having something new for her every time he was gone for any extended period of time. Sometimes, they were things he bought, other times they were items he boosted from underground places that specialized in glittering baubles … those she only brought out on special occasions.

But this …

This was bigger than anything he had brought before it.

And undoubtedly, much harder for him to get his hands on.

“If you don’t like it,” he went on, “I can take it back.”

Return the painting that he had taken in the first place? “I’m not saying I don’t like it.”

“Are you worried it’ll be found?” Kyrnon asked as he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her further into his hold. “Because you shouldn’t. Another will replace it soon enough. All’s grand, lovie.”