IK1 (13 page)
Authors: t
“No, sir. I wasn’t able to get what you asked.” There was a pause and Caldwell turned pale. “Yes, sir. I’m on my way.” He disconnected and took a deep breath. “I’ve got to go.” Opening the door, he turned back. “Later, Highlander. We’re not through yet.”
* * * *
SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 55
“Here, lass. Drink this.” Lucas sat down on the couch beside her and held out a steaming mug of tea. “Black cohash. Good for stomach upset.”
Trembling, she reached out and he placed the cup in her hand and wrapped his
over hers. His hands were warm and strong and Sara felt energy effusing through them, sweeping over her like a gentle breeze. Her nerves steadied and she took a sip of tea.
“How did you know about cohash?” she asked.
“It’s an old medieval remedy, isn’t it? Something that maybe Nimue would have used in King Arthur’s days?”
Beside her shoulder, the faerie stilled and stared at him. Sara didn’t notice for Lucas still embraced her hands and the warm, fuzzy feeling was quickly turning into something more like flaming heat. Heat that pricked at her nipples and seared through her belly and kindled a throbbing between her legs. Maybe something in her face gave away her lecherous thoughts, for Lucas suddenly dropped his hands.
“You’ve got quite a collection of unusual herbs,” he said.
What to tell him? She could just about imagine his reaction if she told him she was a practicing witch. There were few people who understood white witches followed the Goddess way and didn’t go around casting spells or curses.
“I’m into holistic healing,” she said. “I prefer natural remedies to drugs.” He lifted an eyebrow, but remained silent and Sara prayed that he hadn’t found the baneful packets. They were only used for protection and sometimes, clairvoyance, although that wasn’t really her thing. The vision in the cup two nights ago had been enough.
“Interesting décor, too,” he said as he got up and moved across the room to study a painting over the fireplace. The setting was a lush, grassy hill dotted with grazing sheep and resting dogs. A dove sat in the single hawthorn tree that stood at the base of the hill, almost lost in the snowy flowers. A circle of standing stones crowned the summit. Inside that circle a woman stood, clad in a simple, sleeveless gown of white, a small golden sickle hanging from a silver belt. Her bright red hair cascaded down her back and her arms were raised in supplication.
Lucas turned to Sara questioningly. “Brighid,” she said. “Goddess of Eire.”
He turned back to the painting. “Aye. It looks verra like her.”
“Pardon me?”
He seemed to give himself a little shake and then he crossed the room to sit in a chair close to the sofa. “One of my ancestors had a likeness of her,” he said. “She is the Goddess of the Highlands, too.”
‘Is’ not ‘was.’ Interesting. “The Christians even adopted her as St. Brigit, the midwife to the Virgin,” Sara said and watched for a reaction. “When they couldn’t eradicate pagan beliefs, they simply converted them into Christian practices, like they did with Samhain and All Saints Day or Eostre and Easter.”
Lucas glanced again at the picture. “The important thing is that she’s
remembered, don’t you think?”
All Goddesses are One. Sara took another sip of tea. “I suppose so.”
He looked around the room and Sara suddenly wondered if he’d recognized any
the symbology spread about. None of the Three Losers had. On the side wall, encased in a silver frame were three pictures of the moon in its waxing, full, and waning cycles against a night sky. Maiden, mother, crone. Behind her and above the sofa was an intricate wooden carving of vines and roses, signifying the blending of the masculine and SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 56
feminine elements of the Blood Royal. A figurine of Venus, holding the five pointed morning and evening star in her hand, stood on the coffee table. How many people knew that the pentacle shape traced the path she took to complete her eight-year cycle across the skies? And, on the fourth wall, a painting of gypsies gathered around a night fire, the wagons behind them, while a girl with long black hair danced for them, her skirts swirling above bare feet.
Lucas pointed at the picture and smiled. “That looks like you. St. Sara is the patron saint of the gypsies. Are you named for her?”
She stared at him, wondering if he really did understand what he saw. The
darker-skinned Sara that Mary Magdalene brought with her to the south of France had been her daughter and the Rom were indeed descendents. And they were her ancestors.
“Actually, I was.” She noticed a fleeting look of surprise in his golden eyes and wondered what he’d think if he saw the Black Madonna that was in her bedroom.
Thoughts of him actually being in her bedroom—and naked in her bed with maybe just a tiny bit of sheet covering him—caused all the butterflies to start fluttering again, not to mention an anticipatory tingle that she was beginning to identify as sheer lust when it came to thinking about the man. Better stay focused. Think about Madonna—not the current Material Girl—although the statute in her room didn’t have anything to with the Virgin Mary, but spoke of an entirely different bloodline. My bloodline. But how much can I tell him? Be safe. Keep it casual.
“My mother always admired the gypsies. Their freedom to roam and their
closeness of family.”
“I can understand that,” Lucas said. “Do your parents live nearby?”
“No. They were both killed in a car accident when I was eighteen.”
Lucas got up and moved beside her on the couch. “I’m sorry to hear …. ” he
started to say when the doorbell rang. Then, “do you want me to get that?”
“I’ll do it, thanks. I’m feeling better.” She went to the door and opened it.
“Michael! What are you doing here?” Had he been that serious about tracking Caldwell and Lucas down?
“I called Mr. Smith,” he said as he stepped into the living room, “but he said you’d gone home.” He stopped at the sight of Lucas sprawled on the sofa, the blanket in a heap beside him. “Am I interrupting something?”
I wish. She felt herself blush, even though nothing had been going on other than in her mind. “No. I just got ill at lunch and Lucas drove me home.”
Lucas came forward and extended his hand. “Lucas Ramsey. And you are?”
“Michael McCain,” the warlock answered as they shook hands, but his dark eyes
scrutinized Lucas.
“He runs the agency for me,” Sara said quickly as the two men stared down each other. “So what brings you here? Trouble with one of the temps?”
He shook his head. “Nothing wrong there, but I’ve got bad news.”
“What?”
“Maybe you’d better sit down,” Michael answered and took her arm to steer her
toward the sofa and sat down with her, only to find Lucas already in place on the other side of Sara. His eyes widened a little.
Even Sara wondered how Lucas had moved so fast. But Michael’s serious
expression took precedent. “What?” she asked again.
SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 57
“It’s Professor MacDonald. He’s dead.”
Sara gasped. The poor old man had been in rather frail health, but he had seemed okay when she left him on Friday. “How? Did he fall? Have a heart attack?”
Michael fidgeted and looked away. Then he took a deep breath and turned back.
“He was shot. Multiple times.”
She felt the blood draining from her face as the room swirled and then Lucas was holding her head down, a steady hand on her neck.
“Breathe deep,” he said.
She struggled not to hyperventilate and slowly sat up. Lucas fingers lightly
massaged her shoulder and, for once, she felt only comforted by his touch.
With a slight glare at him, Michael picked up her hand. “The place was
ransacked. Whoever did it was looking for something.”
A slow dread began to build, like a piece of molten lava in her stomach. She
whispered, “the papers?”
“I think so,” Michael answered. “Nothing seemed to be missing. All his antiques were still there. His wallet was on the floor, the money still in it.”
The lump hardened in her stomach. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t taken the papers to him, he’d still be alive. Or if I’d let him keep a copy—he was so thrilled to read the manuscript—now I’ve killed him.”
“Ye dinna,” Lucas said, smoothing her hair back from her face. “The person who did this would have killed him anyway.”
“You know who did this?” Sara asked as tears welled in her eyes.
“I think I know who ordered it.”
“Maybe someone who doesn’t want anyone else to know what the document
said,” Michael replied. “Just where were you Friday night?”
Lucas’ eyes deepened to whiskey-color as he regarded the warlock. “I’ve no
alibi, if that’s what you’re asking. I went for a drive to familiarize myself with the surroundings. And how did you find out that the professor was dead?”
Sara felt the electrical charges flow through her as Michael probed Lucas’ mind.
“I will not be a conduit!” She flashed the message to Michael mentally. “You must ask permission before .... ”
To her surprise, she felt the surge of energy reverse itself and flow back to
Michael. Did he withdraw the force or had Lucas returned it?
Michael arched a dark eyebrow. “I drove out there this morning. Since I talked with Sara Friday night, I had a few questions of my own to ask. Robert filled me on what happened.”
Sara wiped at her tears with an edge of the blanket. “And where was Robert
during all this? He’s supposed to take care of him!”
“He says he got a phone call from Parkland that his daughter had been in a car accident. The professor told him to go.”
“Let me guess. The hospital never called?” Lucas’ face was grim.
“No,” Michael said and then narrowed his eyes. “You said you think you know
who ordered this?”
“He goes by the name of Adam Baylor. On the surface, he runs a brokerage
house in London.”
“London?” Sara asked. “Do you think he was at Sotheby’s? Is that how he knew SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 58
about the document?”
“He knew. He doesn’t like to be seen. He probably sent one of his henchmen to bid on it.”
Sara thought back. “There was a nervous young man there who bid on it. He
kept looking back, but there wasn’t anyone there. Or at least not for long. I thought I saw a swarthy looking person with a patch over one eye .... ”
She stopped as Lucas hand stilled on her shoulder and then dropped. “What?”
“So he was there then.”
Her eyes widened. “That was the man responsible for the professor’s murder?”
“You need to call the police,” Michael interjected.
Lucas sighed. “It won’t do any good. He cloaks himself in layers of protection.
Whoever the hit man was, he wouldn’t know who really hired him.”
“How about Caldwell?” Michael asked. “I find it suspicious that both of you
happened to show up so conveniently.”
“I asked Scotland Yard to run an Interpol check on him,” Lucas answered and
smiled at Michael’s look of surprise. “Nothing definitive came back. He’s been involved in a few questionable disputes regarding some angry husbands, but nothing criminal. Anyway, Balor would never use someone who could be so directly identified.
He’s far too clever to use mass communication also when he has other sources he can use.”
“What sources?” Sara asked.
Lucas grimaced. “The brokerage is set up to launder money and provide funds to terrorists. Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, the civil unrest in Lebanon and Nigeria, the pending oil problem with Venezuela, the drug cartels in Mexico … you name it.”
“But if you know this, why can’t the British arrest him?”
“Don’t think they haven’t tried. The open set of books he keeps is legitimate. He never deals directly with the funneling of the funds. Again, layers of protection. Even those who were arrested could only give the partial names of who hired them.”
“But why does he do it?” Sara asked. “And why kill an innocent old man who
didn’t have what they were looking for?”
“Because he can, Sara. Because he can. He likes inflicting pain and misery.” A hard, predatory look came into Lucas’ eyes and again, she thought she saw the angles of his face change and narrow slightly and then the image was gone. “Some men are Satan’s own spawn.”
He didn’t have to tell her what would happen if the Hallows fell into Balor’s
hands. She shuddered. He hadn’t been exaggerating. Civilization really would be destroyed.
From her perch on the mantel, Nim began to keen softly.
SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 59
Lucas paced the floor of the bedroom in his host’s home, feeling as confined as the wolf would be in a cage. He hadn’t wanted to leave Sara alone, but her friend, Michael, had insisted on driving him back here. Damned honorable of him. Lucas hadn’t missed the guy’s attraction to her. He’d found Sara’s car keys in his pocket and he’d gone back to return them. At least the guy wasn’t there.
Not that he could blame McCain. It had taken every bit of centuries-old will
power to convince himself that he was just being supportive, massaging her neck. What he really wanted to do was slide his hands down her arms and around her waist and pull her up against him. He’d cup and knead her breasts while he nuzzled her neck and kissed that vulnerable spot just below and behind the ear lobe and then let his hands slide down her ribs to her belly and press her back. … The wolf growled menacingly and he shook his head in agitation. Better not to think about Sara. The beast wanted out, hungry for the blood of the person who’d murdered the old man. Enraged, the wolf could easily mistake the powerful emotion of lust for something else.
