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

CHAPTER THREE

Lauren MacBain sat on Taryn’s desk in her small office across from the Celtic Studies Center buildings of Milwaukee’s prestigious Humanities College. Taryn’s father, James Campbell, had been scholar emeritus there for most of his illustrious career. After his death, Taryn used a portion of her inheritance to build her own office and research base, though she was rarely ever here. MacBain kept her trotting the globe in search of myth and mystery and, smiling sardonically he thought, good cable rankings. That’s what the museum, the broadcasting community and Taryn thought, and since it served him well, MacBain let them keep on thinking just that.

MacBain ran his long fingers over the hand-blown Caithness glass paperweight he’d purchased for Taryn on his last trip to northern Scotland. She accepted the glass, but sent the diamond back.

Tossing the heavy glass dome, striated with threads of tartan green, purple, yellow and orange into the air and catching it without focusing on it, MacBain puzzled over Taryn’s reaction to his proposal. She wasn’t given to flights of romanticism as far as he could tell, so her immediate rejection didn’t sting exactly, but neither did it make sense. She was attracted to him, at least physically, but she wouldn’t sleep with him. MacBain’s eyes narrowed as he caught the paperweight one last time setting it down in exactly the same spot he’d found it. Now she was late. Again unusual and out of character.

Pushing himself away from the desk he caught a glimpse of the man he knew had been researching and following Taryn for the better part of a month. He wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore. Parking in front of Taryn’s office on a motorcycle with a grill more suited to a car than a bike, dressed like a cross between a bad Hollywood 50’s greaser and a Bourne-esque assassin wasn’t subtle. It screamed: ‘Here I am, I’ve got condoms in my pocket and I’m coming for you.’

MacBain shook his head, smiling at the image he conjured. “Tacky, Mohr. Very tacky. But what can one expect from a man who eschews his fortune in favor of community gardening.”

Taking one last look through the one-way glass on his way out the door, MacBain sent an entreaty to the Goddess on Jesse Mohr’s behalf. “May you have better luck with the lady’s affections, Mohr. You’d better hurry, old man, she leaves for Wiltshire in ten days. She’ll be on that plane and this time more than ratings are at stake.”

MacBain shut Taryn’s door as quietly and as effortlessly as he’d opened it. No one saw him come. No one saw him go. Still, he had little doubt Taryn would know he’d been here. MacBain smiled at the thought.

…

“Your admirer’s here again. He’s not even trying to hide this time. I wonder why he keeps letting you see him. It’s almost like he wants you to get used to fact that he’s inserting himself into your life.” Merlin, her friend and assistant, shrugged. “Whatever his motivation, it looks like he’s in for the long haul.”

Merlin turned from the blue smoked glass wall in Taryn’s office that let her see out without allowing others to see in and caught Taryn’s gaze as she looked up from her seemingly endless pile of paperwork, most of which she had to memorize before she left to film the latest installment of
Magical Britain
.

“Ignore him, Merlin and he’ll go away.”

“Not this time.”

Taryn pushed away from her desk and joined Merlin at the window. Merlin had just shown up one day a little over two years ago when she’d been filming a segment about pirates and sea myths at Lands End in Cornwall. He was suddenly just there, like the stranger watching her office as he leaned against his monstrous motorcycle. Merlin wormed his way into her heart and her life in less time than it took to finish the Cornwall shoot. He’d been with her ever since. Taryn loved him in the way people who weren’t only children probably loved their siblings.

Merlin quickly made himself indispensable in her life, unlike this stranger who made her want to bash something.
Different, different, different.

“He looks the same to me. A little hotter today than yesterday, but that’s probably because his shirt is sticking to him like wet silk. I’d love pecs like that. And look at those biceps.” Merlin turned to look at Taryn and a pang of compassion washed through her. “He is just about perfect.” Merlin hadn’t quite grown into his gangly arms and legs yet, and he knew it.

Taryn hugged him quickly. “So are you. Just the way you are.”

Letting go of Merlin, Taryn focused on the man’s shirt. Merlin was right. It was sticking to him in a way that had her swallowing hard as the muscles of his torso expanded and contracted with the effort of shucking out of his leather jacket. It was warm for June, and perspiration was clearly evident around his neckline. That did nothing to detract from the over-the-top maleness he wore like invisible armor.

Taryn leaned into Merlin, putting an arm around his rail-thin waist. Her head nestled into his shoulder. Merlin stood a good head taller than her, which only accentuated his slenderness. “You’d have to spend a decade in the gym to look like that. I would too, to get arms that well defined.”

Realizing she may have offended him, Taryn gave Merlin a quick squeeze. “Of course you could help me in my garden. That would help bulk you up a bit.”

Merlin smirked down at her. “I’d rather go to the gym, which I deplore on purely aesthetic grounds, than help you move rocks around that pathetic excuse of a backyard you call a ‘garden’.”

Taryn poked Merlin between two exposed ribs and pushed away, still staring at the well built stranger. “I like my garden.”

“Gardens are places where things grow. Your garden is barren and full of sand and stone and no man. You and your garden need to get lubricated before you both dry up and join a shuffle-board league.”

Taryn smiled at him. “Is there such a thing?”

“Let’s not find out.”

“Is there some reason you’re referring to my sex life and-”

Taryn nodded toward man and bike.

“- that walking ad for
Men’s Health
magazine in the same sentence, or are you simply projecting your desires onto me?”

Merlin looked down at her and his smile was so slow and hot, so full of base carnality that Taryn took a step back. How could someone barely old enough to drink imbue a look with enough sensual promise that it sucked the air from her lungs and scorched her to her toes with its heat? Sometimes Merlin threw her with his wealth of experience and his youth; the two just didn’t jell.

“Oh, I’m definitely projecting. Unfortunately, I’m not his type. It seems he only has eyes for you.”

Since Merlin was looking at her, not at the stranger, Taryn wondered how he could know that, and sure enough when Taryn turned to look, the man had taken off his mirrored glasses and was starring directly at her. Heat coursed through her, whether a product of Merlin’s words or the look of possessive intent this man was sending her, she couldn’t tell. Either way, she wanted to bash something, or more to the point, someone.

Taryn quickly scanned her office for would-be weapons. Her gaze moved to her paperweight, dismissing it immediately. It had good weight and she had pretty good aim, but at best it was a single projectile weapon. If she missed, she was done. Next her eyes spotted her faux Damascus scimitar letter opener. Taryn dismissed that too. She’d have to get too close to use it. Finally her eyes settled on the far wall and the eighteenth century oak shillelagh Merlin had given her as a present. She kept it in a place of honor on her wall next to an old Scottish wooden golf club whose shaft was too narrow for what she had in mind.

Merlin’s gaze followed hers. “Where are you going with that?” he asked, sounding like he’d swallowed a pint of the liquid gel he used to keep his long auburn curls tight and shiny.

Channeling her highland ancestors, Taryn pushed her shoulders back, threw her long blond hair behind her and straightened to her full height. “I’m going to introduce myself.” She said, baring her teeth in a way that could easily be mistaken for a smile.

“The Highland way.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Taryn was coming at him brandishing an oversized leprechaun stick, a slightly crazed look in her eyes, and a smile better suited to a padded cell than a poised cable personality and Celtic scholar in residence.

Jesse played this first meeting with Taryn over and over in his mind since he first learned of her existence as a teenager. Even in his wildest fantasies he hadn’t seen this kind of crazy coming. The woman didn’t have the sense God gave a gnat if she thought crazy and an old stick could save her from someone like him.

Jesse shook his head as Taryn began to rapidly close the distance between them, admiring her grit, deploring her lack of skill. The latter he could fix. The former would sustain her for what she was about to experience. As soon as she was amenable, he’d teach her some basic self-defense that didn’t involve twigs. The woman was dangerously clueless. He didn’t want her putting herself in danger ever again, so ill prepared for her opponent.

He’d give her an ‘A’ for enthusiasm though. She had that in spades, hearts and diamonds. All she lacked was a decent weapon. Jesse could almost taste the anticipation mingling with adrenaline in the air as Taryn charged closer.

Drawing his brows together, as he struggled to interpret the small facial expressions that flit across her face, Jesse tensed. He derived no pleasure from having a woman coming after him with violence on her mind, no matter how unskilled her attack may be. Skilled or unskilled, women who attacked were always dangerous. Because he never wanted to hurt any of them, it made defending himself more complicated than it needed to be.

When Taryn was just shy of close enough to touch him with her wannabe weapon, Jesse circled away from his bike. Taryn couldn’t do any damage to him, not the lasting kind anyway, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t hurt his new paint job before he could disarm her. Jesse watched, wary and quietly amused, as she slowed down, now inching forward with more intent than grace. She took a step forward. Jesse moved farther away from his bike.

“That’s it, buddy, back away. Not smirking like those studs on the cover of
Men’s Health
now are you?” Taryn’s voice shook slightly. Had he not been so highly attuned to her every reaction he would have missed it.

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up at the
Men’s Health
comment. The few times he’d actually seen the magazine, air-brushed, candy-ass male models or celebrities were on the cover. And Taryn was right, they’d all been smirking. He didn’t know whether to be flattered by her obvious appreciation for his form or insulted that she lumped him in with the class of self-absorbed jackasses. Jackasses who had more money than sense, and who spent a good portion of it trying to make themselves beautiful, as if that were an end in itself.
Pathetic.

Taryn stopped and pointed her stick at him. Her voice didn’t waiver this time. Neither did her stick. “Why are you following me?”

How to answer that?
To take you to your mother,
didn’t sound plausible in his head. Jesse doubted it would sound any better coming out of his mouth.

“Do you know who I am?”

At least this he could answer. “I do. The better question is, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you know who you are?”

Her shoulders dropped and she lowered her stick, presumably because she didn’t see him as a threat any longer. “Oh you’re a philosophy student. I don’t have the time or the inclination to engage in a conversation about the meaning of life and personal identity, especially not with a stalker. Go away or I’m calling campus security.”

Jesse smiled, unable to figure out why she decided he was no longer a threat simply because she’d dubbed him a philosophical stalker.

“Technically we’re not on campus, so it’s not their problem.” Jesse made a show of looking at his watch. “This is village jurisdiction and it’s coffee time at the station. Normal response time is eight minutes. But the squad room just received two dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and a three liter carton from Caribou coffee.” Jesse crossed his arms over his chest and winked at her. “Best fifty bucks I ever spent.”

Then Jesse turned serious. He was having fun yanking her chain, but he had a purpose here and pissing her off wasn’t going to get it done.

He dropped his arms to his sides and stood as neutrally as he could. He didn’t want her afraid of him. “You don’t need to call in the cavalry. You don’t need saving, Taryn. Not from me. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Not intentionally, anyway.

Taryn’s eyes narrowed at his donut comment. He could almost see the steam coming out of her ears when he mentioned coffee breaks and police jurisdiction. When he told her he wouldn’t hurt her, something in her eyes told him she believed him. Then, almost as quickly as the primitive portion of her brain responded to him, releasing any fear she may have had, the more rational part of her brain had her scowling again, spoiling for a fight. Jesse needed to head that off. He needed to talk, maybe cajole, he didn’t need for her to brain him with her stick.

Jesse sighed, resigned to the fact that it wasn’t going to be as easy as telling Taryn the truth to get her to trust him. In fact, if he really wanted her to trust him, the truth about his Quixotic quest was going to have to stay hidden for a while. It sounded too crazy to be true, even to him, a man whose whole existence strained credulity.

If Reed hadn’t saved him, he’d most probably be dead or in prison by now. He owed Reed everything, including his self-worth. He couldn’t afford to fuck this up. He needed to reunite Reed with Taryn.

Jesse moved back a step, trying to bring back that flash of trust back into Taryn’s blue-green eyes. Pointing out that she was armed, and as far as she knew he wasn’t, may help. “If the police would manage to get here before I leave they’d probably cite you. You’re the one with the weapon.”

Jesse didn’t even crack a smile as he uttered, “You’re the one creating the disturbance. I’m just standing here minding my own business.”