Circle of Fire (8 page)

There was an underlying threat in the man’s tone, one that told him the stranger wouldn’t take no for an answer. But why was the man so determined to get into his room? And why didn’t he seem surprised to find Madeline here? Madeline’s fear jumped a notch. Maybe she could sense the unspoken menace in the stranger’s voice. She cleared her throat softly, then said, “Okay. But just give me a minute to straighten up.”

Until he knew who was responsible for shooting him, he couldn’t risk being seen. He’d put her in enough danger by simply asking her to rescue him. He walked across to the wardrobe and edged the door closed, leaving only a minute gap to see through. Madeline walked in a second later. Her gaze went to the bed, then swept quickly to the wardrobe. She smiled tightly and continued on to the window. Her hair was a tangled mess of ringlets that bounced with every movement. He’d been wrong about the color being chestnut. It was more a rich red-gold that hung down her back like a river of flame. The fluffy white
sweater that hung to her thighs did nothing for the slender figure that had brushed against him last night and haunted his dreams. But at least her legs were clad in dark green leggings, not baggy old sweatpants—probably because he was wearing them.

She was, he thought with a slight smile, all color and energy and warmth, despite the fear that hung like a pall around her. The only outward sign of her tension was her hands, which were clenched by her side. Jon hoped she kept her gaze away from the stranger’s. Her eyes were too expressive. One look into their amber flame and the stranger would know she was hiding something—or someone.

The man who followed her into the room was big. Not tall, just built like a man who’d spent half his life lifting weights.

And he wasn’t the same Hank Stewart that Jon had seen pictures of several days before, although they looked enough alike to be brothers. Madeline opened the blinds, and sunlight streamed in. The stranger winced and stepped back into the living room. A second man brushed past him, carrying a toolbox and a small pane of glass.

Jon studied the man now passing himself off as the night manager. Was he merely light sensitive, or did he have a more sinister reason for hiding from the sun? Was he dealing with something as simple as a vampire?

The big man shifted, moving back to the doorway. The sunlight touched him and, for an instant, revealed a gaunt, weathered face and muddy-brown eyes that were as dead as stone. Jon blinked, and the
image was gone, replaced by the open, friendly face of Hank Stewart.

The man wasn’t a vampire. Only the very ancient vampires could stand the touch of the sun, and the stranger certainly didn’t have the presence of something that old and powerful.

Yet a faint wisp of dark magic told him that the stranger wasn’t entirely human, either. He frowned. Scattered images ran through his mind—erratic memories of last night’s events. This man had been in his room then, too, and with him had been a shapeshifter. Could it have been the same shifter he’d seen in the forest? Surely a town as small as Taurin Bay couldn’t have more than one in the area?

The minutes ticked by slowly. Eventually, the repairman came out of the bathroom and gave Madeline a smile. “All fixed, ma’am.”

She nodded and crossed her arms, staring at the night manager. The man posing as Hank Stewart was frowning at the wardrobe. There was no real indication that he suspected Jon was hiding there, nothing more than a deepening of his frown before he turned away. Madeline followed the two men out of the room.

He stepped from the wardrobe and walked to the bed. Madeline returned to the room and stopped, her eyes showing the uncertainty he sensed in her.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

Her voice was soft and slightly husky, and as warm as a whiskey on a cold night. A sound any man could get used to. He wondered whether it was natural or caused by fear.

“Better,” he said. “Though I would like to know how I got into these … pants.”

Her gaze ran down his body, then danced away, and he had to stop himself from smiling when he saw the blush creep across her cheeks.

“Your clothes were soaked, and I didn’t want you running around naked.”

After the flight here last night, he wouldn’t have been able to run anywhere. And she still hadn’t explained why she’d dressed him in her clothes instead of his own. “So why didn’t you just get something out of my bags?”

The look she gave him was both wary and confused. “This is my room. Your clothes aren’t here.”

He glanced across at the painting. “This is the Captain’s Quarters, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, and a flash of understanding ran through her eyes. “You were staying here, too—before someone took that potshot at you?”

Potshot
. What a quaint way of putting the attempt on his life! “Yes. And it looks as though someone didn’t expect me back, either.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, then crossed her arms. He wondered if her uneasiness stemmed from the situation or his presence in her bedroom. “Someone obviously suspects you’re still alive, though,” she said softly.

The only thing obvious was that she was in serious danger. The night manager, or the man now masquerading as him, wouldn’t have been acting so suspiciously if he didn’t suspect her somehow. For her own safety, she had to leave.

But something told him that getting her to leave wasn’t going to be an easy task.

His thoughts stilled … were the things he’d hidden behind the bathroom vent still there? Christ, he hoped so! He’d hate to have to tell his old man that he’d lost the ring. It was a family heirloom and had survived five generations of Barnett males. He wanted to pass it on to his own son one day. Not that
that
looked likely, given his present job.

He resisted the urge to get up and check. If it was gone, there was nothing he could do about it now. It was more important to sort out what was going on and find the missing kid before the next new moon.

“You’re right. Someone does suspect I’m alive, which means you’ll have to leave, Madeline.”

“Please don’t call me that. I prefer Maddie.”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze, but he caught her flash of pain anyway. Who had hurt her so badly that she now hated her given name? “Maddie, did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. But I’m not leaving.”

“You have to—”

“I don’t
have
to do anything!”

He raised his eyebrows at the vehemence in her voice. Pain ran through the swirl of emotions coloring her aura, a river of tears she would never shed. Her gaze was determined when it met his, and anger stained her cheeks a pretty pink.

“My nephew disappeared two nights ago. I want you to help me find him.”

Damn!
He ran a hand through his hair. Two teenagers this time, and only five days to the new moon. “I’ll find him, but you have to go back home. I can’t
protect you twenty-four hours a day, and someone must suspect you’re somehow connected with me.” Why else would the stranger be so interested in the room?

She clenched her hands and glared at him. Even half-closed and full of anger, her almond-shaped eyes were lovely.

“I don’t expect you to protect me. I can look after myself, thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. These people have already tried to kill me. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I don’t want to be hurt, either, but I’m not going anywhere until I find Evan.”

Her determined expression told him that arguing was useless. Still, he had to try. “Damn it, Maddie, be reasonable. This is my job. Let me do it without having to worry about you getting hurt—or getting in the way.”

He rose from the bed and stepped toward her. Terror flashed through her eyes, and she backed away quickly. He stopped in surprise. It was almost as if she were afraid he was going to hit her.

The thought shook him. There had been women in his past who’d called him uncaring and arrogant, usually because they had wanted more from the relationship than he’d ever been prepared to give. But never had he been accused of violence toward a woman.

There was no way for her to know this, of course. They were virtual strangers, brought together by unusual circumstances. But what had he done to make her fear him like that?

He raised his hands and sat back down. After a
minute, the tension seemed to leave her body, and a slight flush invaded her cheeks. It wasn’t him she was frightened of, he realized. Her reaction had been automatic.

If he ever met the man who had done that to her, he thought, he would kill him.

“You saw the arrow. You saw the damage it did. I was lucky, but you might not be.”

She raised her chin slightly, as if denying the fear he could almost taste.

“I can take care of myself,” she repeated softly.

A flicker ran through her eyes—an emotion too fast for him to identify. He frowned. With her clenched hands almost lost in the sleeves of her oversized sweater, she looked absurdly young. Yet her reactions—and her fear—told him she was no stranger to pain and death. He had no doubt that she could take care of herself under normal circumstances. But this situation was far from normal.

“You’re a fool if you believe that,” he said harshly, wincing inside even as he did so. “And I won’t be held responsible for your safety.”

She’d no doubt saved his life, but while he had no wish to hurt her, if she wouldn’t listen to reason, he had little choice. His job, and his life, made him a dangerous person to be around. Hell, wasn’t that one of the major reasons he’d cut himself off from his family?

“Just keep out of my way,” he added. “The last thing I need right now is an amateur detective screwing up the clues.”

“I’ll get in your way if I feel it’s damn well necessary,” she snapped back, then blushed again and took a deep breath.

Someone knocked at the door and she glanced at her watch. “That’s probably the late breakfast I ordered. Your clothes are dry and hidden under the towels in the bathroom. Why don’t you take a much-needed shower and meet me in the living room?”

So, not only would he not be obeyed, but he also stank. He suppressed a grin, liking the sudden hint of fire. She studied him a moment longer, her gaze narrowing, then she spun and walked away, her flame-red hair and white fluff sweater flouncing along with every movement. He shook his head and headed for the shower. It wasn’t going to be easy to get rid of her, especially if she kept making him smile.

M
ADDIE KICKED THE DOOR SHUT AND CARRIED THE LARGE
tray over to the table. The smell of bacon and eggs turned her stomach slightly, but she’d figured Jon was more a traditional type when it came to breakfast. Just in case she was wrong, she’d ordered cereal, as well as a yogurt for herself.

Grabbing the yogurt and a spoon, she dragged out the nearest chair and sat down. How could she tell Jon about her visions of Evan and his captor without having him think her strange? Though
that
was something she should be well used to. So many times in the past she’d been called weird, or worse, when the trancelike state of the dreams hit her.

Her dad had even hauled her through a series of psychiatrists’ offices in the vague hope they’d cure her “illness.”

She grimaced. Fat lot of good it had done him or her.

She scooped up some yogurt and stared at the small fire she’d lit in the hearth earlier. It was hard to judge how Jon would react, because it was hard to put him in one particular type of box. In the brief time she’d known him he’d been caring and gentle and funny, and yet he had switched so easily to being an ungrateful bastard.

Would he think her a freak, as Brian had?
Probably
. It was a thought that scared her more than it should have.

And yet, he’d somehow appeared in her home, asking for help and warning her about Evan. If he could do that, then surely he would understand when she explained about the visions.

He walked into the room several minutes later, and she almost choked on her yogurt. How could any man manage to walk when his jeans were so tight? Not that she was complaining … There was nothing nicer than a set of well-defined thighs in tight jeans. Except, maybe, a well-defined rear—and, to her disappointment, his shirttails covered that.

He glanced at her, a hint of a smile dancing across his lips and touching the bright depths of his eyes. Heat invaded her cheeks again.
Good lord, I really do hope he can’t read my thoughts
.

She quickly averted her gaze and took another spoonful of yogurt, looking up only after he sat down.

“I gather most of this is for me,” he said in amusement.

“Wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I ordered a mix.”

He nodded, sending shimmers of gold running through his damp hair. Maddie watched him reach for the plate of bacon and eggs and smiled.
Right the first time
. The smell wafted across the table, and she wrinkled her nose.

“I gather from your expression you don’t like bacon.”

She glanced up. From the way he arched his eyebrow, she gathered she’d scored another point against herself.
Not that it matters. He doesn’t have to like me to help me find Evan
. “No. I had a pet pig when I was a kid that became a family meal when it was big enough. I haven’t been able to eat pork since.”

“Ah, I see.”

She wondered if he did. His easygoing manner told her he’d never wanted for friendship—that he’d never been forced to find companionship from a pet because he couldn’t find it anywhere else.

“I noticed an incense burner on the mantel,” he said. “Would you like me to light it?”

She nodded, surprised he’d even noticed the burner, let alone would offer to light it, especially given his earlier hostility.

He walked to the mantel, and she resisted the temptation to watch him, looking up only when he sat back down. He placed the burner between them and flashed her a smile that made her heart do an odd flip-flop.

She obviously needed to sleep. She had to be exhausted if a simple smile sent her over the edge. She glanced away from the warmth of his gaze and found herself staring instead at his long, strong hands as he made short work of his meal. For the first time since
she’d met him, she noticed he was wearing a ring. She was oddly relieved to see it was on his right hand, not his left.