Demon on a Distant Shore (20 page)

“You didn’t tell me any of this!” Carrie exclaimed.

“Then be quiet and listen.”

Then the Land Rover took that sharp turn. I flared my eyes. “Clarke drove to the church. Whichever direction he came from, he made plenty of ninety-degree turns on these country roads.”

Royal’s eyes met mine. Before he could speak I jabbed my finger at the windscreen. “Car!” The narrow lanes intimidated me, I did
not
like him taking his eyes off the road.

“There is not.”

“Frightened the life out of me.” Carrie fanned her bosom with one hand then clapped it to her mouth. “Did you hear me? Frightened the
life
out of me? Ooh, I am a silly cow.”

I poked Royal’s shoulder by way of emphasis. “How do you know when you’re not looking at the road?”

Royal shook his head slightly, eyes crinkling as he looked ahead and directed our conversation back to the topic at hand. “The bomb was put in place after he parked in the lane. He left the Land Rover long enough for someone to mount the explosives.”

I closed my eyes and ran the fingers of both hands over my scalp. “So whoever hired him to kill us didn’t want him alive to tell the tale. Royal, we’re in the middle of something nasty.”

“You must be fond of understatement,” Carrie pointed out.

I twisted toward Royal as much as the seatbelt allowed. “
Why
did someone try to kill us? What did we do?”

I thought some more and he let me. I put my thoughts into words as we drove into Little Barrow. “We asked about the Nortons and someone searched our room. We went to Peter Cooper’s office. Someone caught onto us.”

“Nobody saw us at Cooper’s. I would have known.”

“Then maybe. . . . Shit! I don’t know what’s going on.”

We drove down the side of The Hart and Garter, parked, and went through the back entrance to the inn.

To give her her due, Carrie had not once tried to come to our room, so I did her the favor of taking her to the bar and dropping her off there. Then I tromped up the stairs on Royal’s heels, anxious and depressed. A cloud mass obscuring the sun didn’t lighten my mood. We had not found the Nortons. Persons unknown were trying to kill us. We couldn’t help Johnny, at least not in a direct way.

Royal opened the door to our room. I squeezed past him and flopped in the chair. As I sat there, my anxiety expanded. Perhaps whoever searched our room was not local, as I presumed, but from outside the village, as far away as another dimension. Maybe it was the prelude to something much worse.

They tried to kill us. They used explosives.  My voice came out raspy. “Royal, can you look around, make sure. . . .”

Some nasty Gelpha planted a bomb in my house and another in Royal’s apartment. Royal’s heightened senses detected the detonator’s click as it activated; his speed got him from his living room before the bomb exploded. I almost lost him. He alerted Clarion PD, who sent the bomb squad to my house in record time. They found a similar device in my kitchen.

So, yeah, I’m a little paranoid.

Royal knew what I wanted of him. Far from dismissing the notion, he nodded seriously and went through the room and bathroom, checking every place which could hide an explosive device, while I sat frozen to the seat.

He came from the bathroom looking worried, and went to the bed. “Tiff, I want you to do exactly as I say.”

I nodded. A lump came up my throat and wedged there.

“Come here.”

I eased from the chair, hardly daring to breathe as I crept over the floor to the bed.

“Now take off all your clothes and do it slowly, very slowly.”

What?
Hunched over, my fingers were on the buttons of my shirt. His lip lifted in a tiny tweak. My hands dropped as I straightened. He gave me an eyebrow.

So that was his game.

Grinning, I lunged at him. But he wasn’t there anymore.

I spun on my heel. Wearing a stupid smile, he stood with his back to the door. I tore across the room at him.

He moved again, a vague blur off to my left.

Now he stood against the east window. I growled out a chuckle, and launched myself at him. Blink, and he’d gone.

I turned very slowly, and he sat precariously balanced on the headboard, one knee over the other, chin on knuckled hand like Rodin’s The Thinker, only with clothes on.

I swallowed a laugh and tried to look mad. “Get down here, asshole!”

“Come and get me.” He dropped off the headboard and hit the mattress. His big mistake, because you can’t zip away when you are hanging onto a jiggling mattress for dear life. I jumped him.

When I had my knees either side of his waist, he wrapped me in arms like steel bands and brought me down on his chest. “Got you.”

Before I could open my mouth, he said, “Feel better now?”

Yeah, I did. Darting around the room after him leached away the tension.

I laid my cheek on his chest, admitting nothing.

“You will not try to hurt me if I let you up, will you?”

“Don’t let me up,” I murmured. “I want to stay here awhile.

“Fine by me.”

His arms relaxed. I let a minute go by, then sat up. As I gazed in his eyes, I placed my palms flat on his chest and performed an oh-so-slow grind. His eyes darkened and he swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbled. I leaned over, and as his breath quickened, grabbed the crystal vase and dumped a mess of tepid water and lavender sprigs in his face.

After a silent moment, he spat out a piece of lavender, eyes glinting, mouth wide in a big white smile. I should have known water and lavender would not discourage him.

We had missed lunch. Royal suggested we have an early supper at The Ugly Duck. “A different clientele. Let us see what they have to say about the drama at the crossroads.”

Sounded like a good idea to me. I put the vase with salvaged lavender and fresh water on the windowsill, and winced at the damp pillows and sheets. “Why don’t you head over, soften them up. I’m going to give my laundry to Sally and ask her for a change of linen.”

His lips pecked my cheek. “See you over there.”

I closed the door behind him. Taking my used clothes from my case, I laid each piece atop another on the bed and stacked my panties and bras on top, then rolled the lot up. I went downstairs with the roll under one arm.

Sally was not at the desk so I smacked the bell with my palm. The resulting
ding
brought her from the kitchen. “How can I help you?” she began, then noticed my clothes. “Laundry? Give it over, dear, and I will have it back to you tomorrow morning. Is that soon enough?”

I passed the bundle to her. “That’ll be great, Mrs. Short.”

She took the roll. “It is Miss Short, dear.”

“Oh. Okay. Miss Short, I had a little accident upstairs. I took the vase of lavender to the bathroom for fresh water and tripped on the edge of the rug. I’m sorry, it went all over the bed.” I could
not
tell her what really happened.

“Oh dear, that was unfortunate. I will have Greg look at the rug. We cannot have our guests falling and hurting themselves. And I will put fresh linens in your room.”

I felt like a heel. “Um, thank you.”

She smiled again and watched me leave the inn.

“Going to The Ugly Duck?” Carrie asked. “You’ll like it. Mind if I join you?”

As if I had a choice.

With the sky cloudy again, the lamps inside The Ugly Duck shone out gold as I crossed the square. I stopped to look through the tiny diamond-pattern panes of a small window. Royal stood at the bar amid a gathering of new admirers.

The pub hunched below the level of the road. I took a step down inside a small thatched porch and pushed open the heavy oak door. Inside, the feeling of age and history, which some inner sense recognizes, wrapped me and seeped through my pores. I felt it in the weight of the heavy oak ceiling beams and slightly bulging whitewashed walls, the inglenook fireplace big enough for three men to stand in shoulder to shoulder, the bar counter and tables almost black with age. The flagstone floor dipped and rose where countless feet had worn paths. How many feet had trod between the tables to make those shallow grooves? The mullioned windows with their tiny panes of green-tinted bottle glass had seen a lot over the centuries.

The ceiling was a shade higher than six-six. I had to duck my head where black beams dropped six inches. I imagined tall, boozy patrons trying to leave the Ugly Duck on Saturday nights and knocking themselves silly. Better than having them drink and drive, I supposed.

Jugs and mugs made of wood or stiff leather hung from the horizontal beams across the ceiling. Ancient, battered pewter tankards were pegged in a line above the mirror, obviously for decoration, because I don’t think anyone would want to drink from them. Four upright beams wearing polished horse brasses marched down the middle of the main bar. Warm golden light made copper and brass glow and glass sparkle. The place had a mellow, comfortable feel.

With a host surrounding him, Royal had his spine to the bar. Other customers sat at the bar or tables, and they also watched and listened as he spoke, a smile in their eyes and on their faces. He had worked his magic again.

Warmth crept through my veins and smoothed over my skin as I looked at my beautiful Gelpha. I call it magic, but it is not, it’s just Royal being Royal.

I went to the bar and stood behind a couple of his new pals, smiling, waiting for him to spot me. My smile faltered. His hand rested on the shoulder of a woman who was not me. He grinned into her eyes, his hand squeezed. She sat on a stool beside him, and with several people between us, I’d not seen her from where I stood at the door.

“Who’s that?” Carrie asked.

“No idea. Have you seen her before?” I murmured from the side of my mouth.

She shook her head. “She’s not local.”

I pushed between two guys. Royal’s face lit up as he exclaimed, “Look who I found!”

I looked all right. Wavy, shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair, porcelain skin, she had big brown eyes with long dark-brown lashes made to bat madly, wide Julia Roberts lips painted rose and a slightly Roman nose. A tight, tan leather waistcoat over a midriff-baring cream T-shirt with little capped sleeves and low scoop neck matched an equally tight leather mini-skirt which rode low on her hips. A diamond stud sparked in her navel. She smiled brightly at me and crossed long legs wearing thigh-high, tan leather boots with four-inch heels. She was shorter than me, but those heels brought her up to my height.

“I’m looking,” I told Royal, my tone flat. I did not take kindly to seeing my man’s hands on another woman.

“Someone is getting hot and bothered,” Carrie sing-songed. “And it’s not her.”

The blonde had a low, breathy voice. “I’m Lorraine.” She presented her hand.

“Aren’t we hoity-toity,” from Carrie.

Royal took his hand from Lorraine’s shoulder, but frowned at me over her head and I guess my expression verged on ferocious. I managed to dredge up the semblance of a smile, but didn’t take her hand. “You live here?”

“Lorraine lives in London. We met last time I was there.”

She tossed her head, flipping her hair back like in those old
don’t hate me because I’m beautiful
commercials. “Imagine my surprise when I saw Royal heading for The Ugly Duck. What a coincidence.”