Fighting Fate: Book 2 of the Warrior Chronicles (12 page)

Jesse entered MacBain’s office after having been buzzed inside by an attractive woman of about sixty who looked like she could make love or war in a split second with the alacrity of a passionate or wrathful goddess, depending on her mood and circumstance. She treated Jesse with respectful disregard, for which he was grateful. She said nothing as the door opened, not even offering her name.

Jesse kept walking. MacBain didn’t look up from the papers he was signing with what Jesse recognized as a special edition Mont Blanc, the Tribute to Mont Blanc to be precise, white lacquer, platinum-plated fittings and 18k gold nib. MacBain opted for the platinum plated version, not the rose-gold, pristine white star on the cap. It was about twelve hundred dollars worth of fine writing instrument. Jesse carried a fine-point Bic.

Pretentious ass.

MacBain looked up, capped the fountain pen, placing it on a sterling silver stand with two balanced scales as the base and a smooth trough for the pen. There were four other fountain pens on his desk, similarly displayed, some he recognized, some he didn’t, but he knew the Mont Blanc was the least expensive of the lot. Jesse didn’t like many millionaires. Most he’d met were all show and little go, and at first blush, MacBain didn’t appear to be the exception to that rule.

MacBain’s green gray eyes focused on Jesse’s face with the kind of intense clarity of a reptile looking for food.
Dangerous man.
MacBain smiled and the moment of seeing into the man under his shell was gone.

“It isn’t pretense, Mr. Mohr.” MacBain said, as he stood, smoothing his linen jacket into line. “It’s love of the art of the written word.” He waved a hand in the air in front of him like some kind of regal ponce. “So much is done with the click of a button these days. It seems a shame to lose the intimacy of the handwritten word, does it not?”

Neither his white linen jacket nor his air of affectation hid the lithe and lethal warrior MacBain was. MacBain operated under the trappings of scholarly snobbery tinged with upper-class entitlement, things Jesse never felt. He doubted MacBain did either, but the man was a hell of an actor.

MacBain didn’t appear to be as broad shouldered as Jesse, but he was as tall, his hands powerfully built and scarred. The man was no virgin when it came to knowing what a blade can do to flesh. In a sign of pure bravado, Jesse plopped down into one of the high-backed burgundy studded leather chairs without being asked. If MacBain was going to play the loafered ponce, he could play redneck country bumpkin with equal aplomb.

“Do the ladies fall for your shtick, MacBain, or is it the gentlemen you aim to please?”

MacBain smiled and executed a perfect long-lashed blink Jesse’s Aunt Finn would be envious of before he crossed to the twin chair next to Jesse’s and sat. Jesse deliberately put himself at a tactical disadvantage by sitting as MacBain stood. Now MacBain not only did the same, but crossed in front of Jesse to do it, one-upping Jesse at his
show me what you got, I dare you
game. He was like a master of the sword, lowering it to give his opponent an opening, daring him to come and be sliced open like a piece of meat. MacBain crossed his legs elegantly before him, taking the old samurai taunting tactic a step further.

“Choice is by its nature so limiting, Mr. Mohr. I
choose
not to limit myself.”

Jesse’s lifted brow must have told MacBain he wasn’t going to bite, no matter the provocation. MacBain was no more bi-sexual than he was, and was no less a threat. That meant Jesse would never be careless enough to fall for the façade MacBain wore for the world.

MacBain’s false warmth faded but his arrogant condescension did not. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mr. Mohr? Or should I say Bennett? I read your article last year on sustainable organics in
Local Farm Today
, but it was signed J. C. Mohr, I believe. Interesting take on compost.”

Jesse stiffened. Not only did MacBain know who he was, he knew details of his family down to the fact that he’d taken Reed’s first husband’s, Charlie’s, name as his middle name, a detail no one outside the family knew, and he’d never shared. Forcing himself to relax, Jesse tried not to show his surprise. Jesse hadn’t used the name Bennett to gain an audience with MacBain either, something he wasn’t above doing if the situation required it, but he didn’t think this one did. He was wrong. Not only was he wrong, he’d seriously misjudged the entire situation. He didn’t believe Taryn set him up, three days ago. She didn’t know he existed then, but it was obvious to him now that her boss sure as hell did. Was MacBain pulling Taryn’s strings without her knowledge, or was he just unusually well informed? Jesse didn’t know, but he was going to find out.

“Do you Google all your appointments?” Jesse said, looking at his finger nails as if they held the secrets to the universe, his tone light, his body straightening slightly in his chair, preparing for battle.

“Yes. I run them through the court database, INTERPOL, and NCIC as well.” MacBain seemed to relax as Jesse tensed. Since only law enforcement was supposed to have access to NCIC, and only a select few, INTERPOL, MacBain’s response raised more questions than it answered. It was as if MacBain was willing him to solve an invisible puzzle without the corner piece.

Jesse gave it up, sat up straight and stared openly at Lauren MacBain. “But that’s not where you learned of me, and since I made this appointment about an hour ago, I’m guessing you didn’t rely on any of those databases for your information.”

“The appointment was made fifty minutes ago and I’m mildly disappointed it took you seventy-two hours to seek me out. I hope you’re up to the task of guarding her. To answer your question, no, I didn’t rely on any of those databases to gain knowledge about you, Mr. Mohr.”

MacBain stood, straightened his silk hand-finished tie, and walked unhurriedly across the room to his door. He didn’t bother explaining what he meant by anything he just said. For the first time since he attended Reed and Jordon’s wedding reception, Jesse felt completely out-classed and out of his depth.

“I married her.” Jesse blurted, wondering why he said it.

MacBain stopped, turned toward him and this time when he smiled, the gesture appeared genuine. “As I understand it, she agreed to a four month contract, not a marriage.”

That stung more than it should have, especially since it was nothing but fact. MacBain nodded toward the papers he’d been signing when Jesse arrived, stacked neatly on his desk. The paper was textured and old, like onion skin only thicker.

“That is Taryn’s itinerary, a copy of her contract with me, and authorization for her to extend her stay or deviate from the filming schedule if she finds anything of archeological interest to the museum.”

MacBain was giving him exactly what he came for without Jesse having to ask, and now he was being dismissed by a man who knew way more than he should about Jesse, his family, and his reason for making the appointment in the first place than he should have. Jesse stood. Reaching for the papers on MacBain’s desk, he couldn’t help but notice the open royal blue velvet ring box, holding a high color cushion-cut solitaire diamond in an antique carved platinum setting. The box was old. The diamond’s large culet indicated the diamond’s age as well as its elegance. The ring was fit for a queen, or a blond titan who was probably cursing his name right now for putting her through hell.

Jesse folded and pocketed the papers without looking at them, crossed the room and brushed past MacBain without another word. He was beyond MacBain’s nameless assistant’s desk when MacBain’s casually uttered warning stopped him. He didn’t look back. After a brief pause Jesse exited the building, hands fisted at his sides, back rigid with expectation, and the odd feeling of having been bested, MacBain’s words echoing in his head.

“Guard her well, Mohr. I’ll be watching.”

Jesse signaled his four man team to stay. Tapping his right ear he asked his team leader, “Did you get all that?”

“Every word, boss.”

“Stay on MacBain. I want a detailed accounting of his every move. Tap his phone, his cell, his car, his office and every place he stops for more than ten seconds. Understood.” It wasn’t a question.

“Roger that, boss.”

Jesse disconnected his team coms and called Jordon’s head of security, Henry. There wasn’t much Henry couldn’t find given the proper motivation. “I need a down and dirty on MacBain. First name Lauren. Middle initial W. Six one or two. Two-twenty or thereabouts. Blond. Reptile green eyes.”

“Reptile?”
Came the amused voice in Jesse’s ear.

“Just run it, Henry. This guy knows way more than he should about all of us.”

A soft click and silence were Henry’s reply.

Jesse wanted to see Taryn. He told himself that just seeing her would be enough. She didn’t need to know he was watching. He also knew simply watching wouldn’t be enough. If he saw her, he’d go to her and that wouldn’t be good for either of them. Jesse didn’t want to interrupt her training, in fact he couldn’t. Sensei Schwartz wouldn’t allow it, and no one got around Sensei.

Besides that truism, Jesse knew she needed to learn what Sensei had to teach her if she was going to survive what Jesse was beginning to believe was more sinister and less obvious than an attempted kidnapping. Jesse shoved his sunglasses into place acknowledging his cowardice was also a factor in staying away. He wasn’t afraid of much, but Taryn was right at the top of that short list, right above parachuting into an active volcano. Taryn would want his balls on a platter right about now for leaving her to Sensei’s tender mercies. This was probably not the best time for a hug.

Jesse grunted at what had to be the biggest understatement of the year. He threw a leg over his Triumph Rocket III, not bothering with his helmet. He needed to feel the wind in his hair for a bit, and more importantly, he needed to be offline and inaccessible for what he was about to do.

Jesse started the bike and headed home via a slight detour to Michigan Street in Chicago. Something told him Taryn was more Georg Jensen than Tiffany’s or Graff, but he opted for three carats and a robin’s egg blue box anyway.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The days blurred for Taryn, the nights did not. After the mind numbing physicality of non-stop training ended for the day, she and Merlin settled into a comfortable routine which began with him helping her into the multi-jet sunken hot tub Jesse had installed behind an ornately painted Japanese screen. The tub was surrounded by windows with a lovely view of the pond, the meadow and the woods beyond. Since she started her days before five in the morning, she ended while the sun was still high in the sky. Every evening Taryn could soak, appreciate the view and live vicariously through the inhabitants of Potter’s Woods.

Merlin put some salts in her bath that eased her bone-deep soreness. He made her sweetly scented tea that eased her mood, and when she was finished soaking, sipping and spying, he’d wrap her blistered feet in gauze with some greenish-brown funky scented goo that made her feet tingle. In the morning her blisters would be gone, toughened calluses taking their place.

They ate in silence most nights, rice and sea vegetables that made her long for a good Copps Butter Burger. When they were finished, Merlin would brush her hair and regale her with his escapades of the day, many of them involving some sort of benign mischief against Jesse or Jordon or Shay. Jesse’s sister, Daisy was as devious as delightful and played starring roles in Merlin’s machinations.

Merlin was enjoying his time here. He fit right in with Taryn’s newly realized family of eclectic eccentrics, who seemed to enjoy life and wanted to celebrate every moment. More than not, Taryn found herself gazing out the windows, wanting to be a part of this place. She told no one, not even Merlin, of her desire, seeing it as a betrayal of Mary and James Campbell, although how, she couldn’t define.

It was too beguiling by half, imagining she could make a life here with Jesse and Reed and the rest of this crazy assemblage. Mary seemed more than willing to have it be so, a fact that had Taryn still shaking her head. At least her mother was contemplating her suggestion to spend some time with Aunt Olive while Taryn was filming in Britain. That way they both may be able to vacation together for a few days.

Thoughts of her parents inevitably led her to her father’s gift and what, if anything, it might mean for her future. She and Merlin scrutinized every detail of every charm over and over again. Some, like the rose window of St. Magnus Cathedral, she recognized, others made no sense to her. Try as hard as she might to wrack her brain for some spark of recognition, none would come.

“This would be a lot easier to figure out if I knew where to begin trying to read these. Where do we start when the whole thing is a circle?”

Merlin set the hair brush down, quickly and effortlessly plaiting her hair in a long braid, tying it off with his seemingly endless supply of multi-colored hair ties. Merlin was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. The shirt had a smiling rainbow colored frog flashing a peace sign on the left shirt pocket, the words:
peace frog
underneath. He’d arranged his hair into some sort of stubby tail that stuck out from the back of his head giving his already angular face a stark appearance that accentuated his grass-green eyes. Exhausted as she was, Taryn couldn’t help but smile.

“Where did you get that shirt?”

“Reed gave it to me.” Merlin beamed at her. “She said it matched my effervescent personality.” He cocked his head at her, holding the shirt away from his thin body with his thumb and forefingers so she could have a better view. “What do you think?”

Taryn smiled warmly, then brushed away tears as she launched herself at Merlin, hugging him tightly. “It’s perfect for you.”

Merlin’s arms came around her. “Are you crying?”

Taryn hiccupped, saying nothing, simply holding him tighter. “I love you, Merlin.”

“Why are you crying? What’s wrong? What do you need, Taryn? Just tell me and I’ll try to get it for you. Come on…talk to me Taryn, I can’t read your mind, love.”