Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 (31 page)

The first thing she was going to do when she got back was go and see her doctor. Just to make sure Bean was okay. She rubbed her tummy,
knowing
that he was curled up, safe and warm, totally unaffected by what had been going on in his mother’s world—“Oh. My. God!”

The guy in the passenger seat—Keir?—whipped his head around. “What’s the matter?”

“Ah—Nothing. I thought I forgot something.” Heather told him, short of breath. He gave her a small frown, and turned around again.

Let’s just say, she thought, her brain going a mile a minute, say Caleb really
is
what he claims to be. Does that mean that his son would be a wizard too? My God. She couldn’t wrap her mind around
any
of this.

Could a nonwizard raise a wizard? She almost groaned at the ramifications of what Caleb had revealed.

It wasn’t as if she could turn around and go back to him. Pretend that his lies now meant nothing and she could forgive him for the sake of the baby. No, Heather was neither that naïve nor that stupid. The faster she got away from Caleb, the better off she’d be. She knew that with every fiber of her being. Well, almost every fiber. Her heart refused to cooperate. It still ached for him, wanted him—or the illusion of him. That’s all it had been, an
illusion.
None of it was real. Well, except the baby.

Aftershe’d checked in with her OB/GYN in the Bay Area, the second thing she had to do was access her safety deposit box and look at her mother’s jewelry.

Heart heavy with sadness, Heather recalled how her mother had handed her the small bag after lunch.

“An early birthday present. Open it later.” Heather had stuck the gift in her tote, and in all the chaos of what had happened in the next few weeks, promptly forgotten about it. She’d been too busy trying to stay alive.

Had her mother somehow managed to use the antique pieces as a way to access the money she’d stolen from her husband's business accounts? Clever if she had. No one would think to look there. For?

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Heather frowned. Her father had mentioned account numbers. Painted or engraved discreetly on one of the pieces? Or perhaps there was a key to a safety deposit box among all the earrings, bracelets, and necklaces? She’d retrieve the pieces, and look for clues about the missing money.

She’d love to dump forty billion dollars—in cash—in Caleb’s lap.

By the time they reached the airport, Heather was desperate for a bathroom. Bean had taken up a determined position directly against her bladder. The two men she was with were nothing if not patient as they escorted her to two restrooms; unfortunately both had little yellow cones blocking the entrance to indicate that they were closed for cleaning. She was almost desperate enough to ask the guys to teleport her to the closest available bathroom ASAP.

“This one looks promising,” Keir Farris told her with a smile, putting her small suitcase down beside him.

“We’ll wait out here,” Tony Rook assured her, leaning a shoulder against the wall beside the door to a ladies’ room thankfully open for business. “Better move it though.” He jerked his chin down the concourse.

“Ah damn it.” Heather saw a cleaning woman approaching with her cleaning cart. Taking up the now-familiar yellow cone, she waved Heather in front of her with a smile. Heather smiled back. Whew.

Good timing. She didn’t think she could make it to another restroom. “I’ll hurry,” she promised. With a smile.

The woman followed her in, cart and all, and was already spraying cleaner on a sink as Heather raced into a stall. Much relieved, she emerged a few minutes later. Crossing to one of the clean sinks, she glanced at herself in the mirror as she dried her hands. “Good grief! I look like the Wild Woman of Borneo!”

She shook her head as she popped open her purse. Caleb had been in such a damn rush to get her out of the hotel that she hadn’t dried her hair. Taking out her brush, she left her purse open, knowing she’d need the lipstick too.

As she raised her hand to run the brush through her hair, she was bumped into from the side. She half turned to see the cleaning woman and a nun standing behind her. Heather smiled.
“Mi scusi—”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

She felt a pinch, like a particularly nasty bee sting, on her upper arm, then everything went black.

LES
P
UCES DE
S
AINT
-O
UEN

PARIS

ONE YEAR EARLIER

1207

Because there were dozens of flea markets in and around Paris on any given weekend, Caleb saved time and started his tail of Heather and her mother from their home to this particular flea market on rue Jules Vallès.

It was fascinating for Caleb to see Heather the way she was before events had set her on a course melding her fate to his.

She was considerably thinner here, almost to the point of emaciation. Even seeing
this
Heather, he couldn’t imagine his Heather wearing the skintight jeans, high-heeled boots, and short mink jacket that she wore now. Diamonds sparkled at her ears, throat, and wrists. Her nails were dangerously long and shellacked a deep burgundy. He preferred them the way she wore them now, short and unpainted. Her hair here was a creamy, expensive blond, cut in a mystifying style that was probably fashionable, but looked untouchable to Caleb. His fingers recalled a tactile memory of the texture of Heather’s hair in the present. The way the silken honey-brown tendrils had felt as she’d let strands drift across his chest when they’d made love.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

He’d have to store away the memories of their love-making and everything else they’d shared. For good. Time to move on.

Invisible, he’d followed the two women from stall to stall for the better part of the morning. He observed most of their morning at the flea market in double time, sometimes triple time. All he wanted to see was what, if anything, Babette Shaw gave her daughter.

It was a nice day to be outside, and the two women were enjoying the first sun break in several days.

They weren’t alone, of course, Caleb noted. A dozen men were with them. All packing. It was expected of the wife and daughter of such a wealthy man. The bodyguards were unobtrusive, dressed in jeans as were most of the other shoppers, but they never forgot what their job was. Their eyes were everywhere.

Caleb was glad to be invisible, they were that good at their job.

Heather and her mother walked arm in arm. Every now and then Heather would comment on something in English, but for the most part the women spoke in French. Their driver, an older man, was in charge of their numerous packages, and he’d been back to the car a half dozen times already this morning to deposit their purchases.

Caleb had checked everything they bought as it had been selected and wrapped. Mostly they’d purchased small antiques: a writing desk, a bronze urn, a pen set, several vases, a length of old lace.

They’d bought flowers, some produce. Nothing of any importance. Still nothing had been given from mother to daughter. And Caleb had watched closely.

They stopped for lunch, the bodyguards taking up their positions at the surrounding tables. The driver had trotted off to deposit more packages in the car and hadn’t returned yet.

Two women Heather’s age came up to their table, and were invited to join them for lunch.

Caleb leaned against a wall nearby, keeping his eyes on Heather and her mother. He listened to the four women discussing a party they’d all attended the past week, but his mind kept drifting back to the Heather of present day.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

She, Rook, and Farris would be at the airport by now. Even with the powerful protective spell he had on her, Caleb was grateful the two men had accompanied her. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a niggle of…What the hell
was
it?

Concern? Yeah. But he knew he didn’t have to worry about Heather and Bean’s safety. Rook and Farris were with her, and would stay with her until he got to San Francisco.

He’d have felt better still if Heather had agreed to go to Gabriel’s. But once this money situation was resolved, he’d try to persuade her that staying at Gabriel’s was her best course of action. She and Bean would want for nothing.

And he’d be able to see them…once in a while. Absently, he rubbed the tightness in his chest.

And how long would she stand for that? he asked himself, gazing at the long line of her neck as she laughed at something one of her friends was saying. The same laugh. Of course it was. The same sparkle in her hazel eyes.

This, you idiot, is the life Heather will return to when this is all over.
This
life. He couldn’t imagine she’d be happy living in a tiny one-room apartment in San Francisco, especially with a baby, for long. She came from enormous wealth. The kind of wealth most people couldn’t even imagine.

So yeah. She’d want to come back to France when this was all over.

Back here. To Paris. To her old life.

Heather and Bean.

His son would learn to speak French before he spoke English. Christ. He’d probably eat—Caleb shuddered.
Snails.
Okay. Bad idea thinking about a plate of
escargots
swimming in garlic butter. He waited for his stomach to protest. Nada. Well, hell. Happy days.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

The group rose from the table for their good-byes, then moved off, Caleb beside Heather. She turned her head, a small frown between her brows and looked right at him. Jesus! Could she
see
him? Not possible…She shook her head and turned back to talk to the driver, who’d returned and met them en route to the car. Caleb let out the breath he’d sucked in.

She hadn’t seen him, he was pretty sure, but somehow she’d sensed that he was there.
How
he had no idea. The idea that Heather was so attuned to him that even a year before they would ever technically meet she’d be aware on some level of his presence freaked him out a little. Okay, more than a little.

Especially since he knew she was the first and only one to remember a backspace.

The driver discreetly passed a small paper bag to Heather’s mother. Not something that either woman had purchased earlier. “Here is the gift for you, my darling,” Babette Shaw said in lilting English, handing the small sack to Heather as they walked.

Heather smiled. “Now what did you do? It isn’t my birthday for two weeks, Mom.”

“Put it away, my darling. Save it to open on your birthday. It is quite valuable, so have a care with it, yes? Put it somewhere very, very safe.”

Bingo.

What woman wouldn’t be curious, and insist on opening a mystery gift right that second?

Heather.

She pushed the small paper bag deep into the tote she carried slung over her shoulder. “You’re being very mysterious.”

“It is something quite old that I had embellished especially for you. If it needs sizing or polishing, you must”—Babette warned, her hand on her daughter’s arm—“you must take it personally to Switzerland to have it repaired. I put the address of the shop inside the bag. You understand, yes?”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Caleb certainly did. Heather clearly didn’t.

“I will take very good care of my present,” Heather said with a teasing smile, tucking her arm into her mother’s as they strolled along. “I’m sure I’ll love it whatever it is.”

With the information he needed, Caleb viewed the rest of the shopping trip in fast-forward. While he wanted to be sure the package Heather received was what everyone was looking for, he felt an almost overwhelming need to go back to real time. Now.

Feeling the exigency, Caleb placed a tracking spell on whatever the hell was in the package, and shimmered back to real time. Still invisible, he transported himself to the flight that Heather and his men were on. She didn’t need to see him, but he sure as shit needed to see her.

Drastically weakened by the backspacing of time, Caleb had to grab a seatback at the front of the cabin to prevent himself from crumbling in the aisle. Lately, each time he TiVoed back took more and more out of him. Locking his knees, he scanned the first-class section for her. He just needed to see her lovely face, assure himself that she was okay, then he’d be gone. One look.

Just one.

Surprisingly, the stairs hadn’t been pulled away from the aircraft, and the door was open. Again, he scanned the first-class section. There were three empty seats in the back.

Nobody looked happy. He didn’t give a flying fuck about the annoyed passengers strapped in place, muttering and looking impatiently at their watches.

What the fuck was going on?

He did a quick walk-through of the rest of the aircraft. No Heather. No Rook. No Farris.