Flame's Dawn (13 page)

God's teeth, Jane was in trouble.

Rubbing his eyes, he refused to consider what would happen if the minion got to her again. Barnaby just wanted to focus on the woman next to him.

If he had his wish, he'd curl up and wrap his arms around her until she woke. However, he didn't want his desperate embrace to push her into yet another nightmare of being trapped.

So he sat by her side, watching her breathe, hanging on her every sigh and murmur, and stroking her silky hair if another night terror tried to take hold.

In the darkness of the cabin, surrounded by miles of nothingness, Jane's presence gave Barnaby something he'd been sorely missing.

His humanity.

A purpose.

Squeezing his hands together until the knuckles popped, he made a decision. Not only did he vow to keep her safe or perish trying, but also he would destroy Thompson and his hellish corporation. Jane deserved to have her pain vindicated. Those other women deserved to be freed.

The only reason Barnaby hadn't left immediately to take down that sick bastard was because of the woman sleeping in the bed.

He couldn't leave Jane.

What about his Indebted contract, the very thing that drew the danger to Jane?

If he couldn't break his contract, he had to leave her.

Criminy, he wanted one shot, just one, at a future with this woman. But to have a chance, he needed to leave so the minion wouldn't be drawn to her. Then he'd have to try to break his Indebted curse.

He owed her that much.

At the end of the day, a future for them would be her decision, and he'd worry about that if they even survived that far.

For now, all that stood between Jane and the minion's deadly retribution was Barnaby.

• • •

The next week rolled along in a predictable routine. Jane slept more than she ever had in her entire life, and each time she woke up, Barnaby was right there, his handsome face creased into the same heartwarming smile. Which would have been perfect in any situation but this current one.

On the seventh morning, Jane got up on her own, made her own sandwich—thank you very much—and walked on her own steam across the entire cabin to open the door and stand on the porch.

Barnaby's quick forays into the surrounding forest set her nerves on edge. He was never gone more than fifteen minutes at a time, but he always left after he had cocked his head to the side, as if he heard something. Then he'd dash out the door. Just as suddenly, he'd come right back, like nothing had happened.

Only, she could tell by the furrow in his brow, it wasn't nothing.

Of course, earlier in the week, he'd left for less than an hour to pick up “real clothes,” as he put it, for her to wear. His friend, Dante, who had helped spring her from the psych ward, had dropped off a box of clothes at a local market for Barnaby to pick up. In the box, she found pants and tops, bras and underwear, and even a cute sundress. His friend had quite the eye for fashion.

When Barnaby began to fidget a few days later, she knew something more occupied his thoughts. He missed her obvious chess feint, and she took his queen without protest. In the fresh air and midmorning light, not even the John Denver tune relaxed him today.

“All right, Barnaby, spill it. What's going on?”

“Nothing.” The smile didn't reach his eyes

“Want to try that again?”

“Oh ho, now you're the polygraph test?”

“No, but I'm a decent profiler.”

His grave tone chilled her skin. “I know.”

“You've started acting differently. Like you need to be somewhere.” It dawned on her. “I've overstayed my welcome, haven't I?”

“No!” He hit the table hard enough to make a castle fall, then mumbled, “My apologies. You didn't deserve that tone.”

“Barnaby. If there's something you need to do, please don't let me stop you. Heck, if you need me to go somewhere, I'll leave. I appreciate all that you've done for me, but you have a life to live.”

Shoving his fingers through his thick brown hair, he grimaced. “That's just it. I only have one little task that will take me away from here for several hours, maybe a day at most.”

Her heart drumming in her chest, she rapidly assessed the security limitations of the cabin and an escape route if she had to stay here alone. “No problem. You've earned a break from managing this invalid.”

“It's not like that at all.”

“Then what?”

“I can't say.”

A little ember of pique glowed inside of her, an emotion she hadn't nurtured in a long time. “You can't say? I share an awful experience no human should have to endure, and you can't tell me what's bothering you?”

“It's not that simple,” he said from a tight jaw.

“Try me.”

“You can't know.”

Jane snapped, “Why not?”

“Because it would be dangerous if you knew my secrets.”

“Like having someone try to kill me dangerous? I already have the corner on that market.”

“No, nothing quite like that.” He clamped his mouth shut.

The ember of irritation flickered to flame. An emotion she had long suppressed sparked, here, now, eager to burn.

“So what then?” she snarled. “Let's get real. What could be worse? Because waiting for me back in San Francisco, with a limitless desire for revenge, is my worst-case scenario where the most catastrophic possibility
isn't
death. Not only does that maniac want to breed with me, but also I have no job, no future, and couldn't run away if my life depended on it, because then the DEA would track me down and eliminate me. So do you still believe my life will be in more danger if you tell me what the hell is bugging you? Because by my calculations, it's statistically impossible that your story will make a dent in the amount of crap I'm in.”

“Please, Jane.” He glanced at his hand. “Bloody hell.”

With zero effort, he'd smashed the king between his thumb and forefinger.

The pieces were solid ivory.

His eyes had gone from blue to a dangerous black.

She gulped and nodded at the pulverized chess piece. “Does your secret have anything to do with the strength you hide from me? The unnatural speed? Or your bogus accent that slips every so often?”

“I don't know about—”

“How about the way your eyes turn colors? Or that you're on edge 90 percent of the time?”

“Please.”

“Please what? Please accept your explanation? Done.” Her hand shook as she waved it over the board. “Now, out with it.”

“God's teeth, Jane. You have no idea. None.” The way he spat the words, like he dragged them out of his soul, chilled her blood. Like he despised her for making him say the words.

“I've seen just about everything.”

“You. I can't—”

“Barnaby,” she cut off his stammering. “What have you said time and again?”

“What?”

“You keep saying ‘trust me.' Tell you what: you want my trust, maybe you should start with some effort on your side of the table.”

“Jane.” With a defeated huff of air, he dropped his face into his hands. “Shite. You will be the death of me.”

His eyes had lightened back to blue, and sadness floated over his face. Then he stared at her until holding his gaze became uncomfortable.

“Well, here goes.” Tapping an uninjured pawn on the board, he looked up at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity. “So I'm pretty old.”

“What, like, thirty?”

His barked laugh held no happiness. “Much older than that. Try over 400 years old.”

A bubble of insane laughter rose up like carbonation. “You can't be serious?”

His steady stare answered her question. “Is this your story or mine?”

She wanted the truth. Careful what she wished for. “Oh my God, you're serious.” She swallowed. “How?”

He nodded. “So. I was born in 1532, the year of our Lord, in London, England. Over the years, my family had ascended into the peerage through a combination of serendipity and machinations. Once my twin brother and I reached our majority, we were sent to court, as one does.”

“Twin?”

“Not so glamorous, considering that we were the fifth and sixth sons, respectively. Very poor prospects in those days. So yes, we were sent to court.”

“Court?”

“The court of Elizabeth, Queen of England. Gloriana.” His rapt expression held more than reverence.

She paused a full ten seconds, assessing whether she was having an LSD flashback. Nope. Solid ground under her. Furniture didn't turn into animals.

“What. The. Hell.”

“'S'true, Jane. Listen to the words. Listen for the truth. You can hear it.”

Earnest, straightforward. No stumbling over words or tightening vowels. Good grief. This couldn't actually be true.

Could it?

He reached out his hand, then curled it into a fist. “Hear me out. All of it. Then you can pass judgment.” Sincerity, not insanity, shone from his eyes.

“I asked for it. All right, then.” She tamped down irritation. “You knew Queen Elizabeth of England?”

“Yes.”

“What was she like?” She was actually going along with this tale.

“Ah, Bess, she was bonny and shrewd, and I so adored her.”

“Wait. How well did you know Queen Elizabeth?”

“I more than knew her.” He winked. “We were lovers.”

“What?”

“You see, my brother happened upon an idea—a stroke of genius that kept us flush with free time. We split our duties as Master of the Horse. Because we were newcomers, few knew that we were twins. Fewer still knew that both of us came to court. So I would serve for a week, and my brother, Robert Dudley, would serve a week. And so it went, each week playing at being Robert. When I wasn't at court, I went by the name Barnaby Emerson and remained discreetly hidden. For a time, life moved along in a comfortable routine.”

“Until?”

“Until I fell madly in love with my queen. How I loved the glints of golden fire in her fierce gaze. Those were halcyon days. We were awash with love, invincible, with an exciting future ahead of us. Only, there were those who wanted her dead. She had radical ideas about the Church of England that ran contrary to all that the Catholics held dear. One attempt on her life nearly succeeded. She'd been poisoned. As I lay with her in my arms as she frothed and struggled to breathe, I called out to the heavens for help. Anything to save my dear Bess.”

Lines of sadness furrowed his brow, and Jane believed the emotion. But not the story. However, she'd give him until the end of his “explanation,” as promised.

“There is more you should know.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line, then finally blinked and relaxed. “Bess carried and bore my child.”

“No. She never had a baby.”

“It was kept secret, but yes, she most certainly did have a child. I know. I put it there. You can imagine the fear when my pregnant love lay at death's door. When I called to the heavens above for help, someone answered my plea. Something, I should say.”

Fine. She would play along. “God?”

“Quite the opposite. The human form of Satan on this Earth.”

“I don't understand.”

“A creature named Jerahmeel, whose only purpose in this world is to trick people into selling their souls to him, where they will live an unnaturally long life and serve his evil appetite.”

“You sold your soul?”

“When Jerahmeel answered my call, he promised to save my Bess if I would but sign a small contract. I signed, she lived and bore my daughter in secret, and all was good ... until Jerahmeel showed up again, demanding payment.”

“What did you pay?”

“Bess, my brother, my daughter, my life. Everything. I left it all behind and became an Indebted, a hired killer, collecting evil souls to feed Jerahmeel.”

Nothing in his speech patterns indicated deception.

After all those acid trips, Jane probably deserved for this story to be true.

After a moment's hesitation where he swallowed a lump of shame, he lifted his pants leg. “I kill with this blade.” The damn thing gave off a green glow.

She gasped. “It's ...?”

“Cursed? Yes, along with me. Due to the knife's call, there will come a point where I can no longer resist the urge to kill a criminal. Jerahmeel, through the blade, forces me to track down and destroy dark souls. The knife leads me to the worst criminals.”

“Well, that makes murder a-okay then, right?” The ocean blue of her eyes turned flat, suspicious, and her disbelief cut him more surely than any metal weapon ever could.

He struggled to recover. “No, you don't understand. It's not bad enough that I have to kill. What scares me is that at some point, I'll have to leave you to perform my ... job. I won't have a choice. That's when you'll be most vulnerable.”

“I'm sure I'll manage.” The brave face she mustered scared him more than her fear.

“It gets worse. If Jerahmeel finds out I have an attachment to any human, he will try to interfere, if only to keep me focused on doing his work.”

“Interfere?”

“Destroy you.” He let the words drop like two bricks.

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

“But you will live for hundreds more years?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

She pressed her lips into an unhappy line. “So a long-term relationship for you is really long term, then?”

“What?”

Anger glinting in her fierce expression shifted into a ghost of a smile. “Well, damn it all. Isn't this just fabulous?”

“Come again?” The hard set to her jaw worried him.

A wry lift to the corner of her mouth gave him a flicker of hope. “How perfect are we? I should be declared insane. You've got a story that will seal my commitment to the asylum if I ever tell it. Perfect.”