Moving Target (30 page)

“Ah, the glamorous life of a P.I.”

Down on the street, Lapstrake snorted, stretched, and walked a few feet in one of the generic step-vans that Rarities often used for stakeouts. This particular van advertised itself as a rental job, reliable and priced right. Lapstrake looked out the back peephole. “No lights are on. Are you crawling around in the dark?”

“For a few minutes. Then you’ll see lots of lights.”

“Chinese fire drill time?” Lapstrake asked sardonically.

“Not quite. I’m taking Serena to watch the sunrise on top of a ridge.”

Lapstrake groaned. “Lucky us. How close you want me to work?”

“You don’t need to go hiking. Just let me know if I have more than one bogey. If I do, take them out quietly, but be sure Bad Billy stays with me.”

“Quietly, huh? How much time do I have?”

“Half an hour if you’re lucky. Twenty minutes if you’re not. Call me if you run into problems.”

“Call you what?” Lapstrake retorted, and disconnected. He had a lot to do and not much time to do it in.

Back in the darkened house, Erik hit the number seven button on his unit with his thumb. Instantly Niall’s second-most-private number went out into the ether.

“This better be good, boyo” was Niall’s surly greeting.

“Somebody is burning people who have leaves from the Book of the Learned.”

Niall said something beneath his breath. Erik didn’t recognize the language and didn’t ask for a translation.

“Short form,” Niall demanded.

“I just gave it to you.”

“Give me more.”

“Three people connected to the Book of the Learned have all died in the last year. Serena’s grandmother in southern California, a Sedona guru in northern Arizona, and Ms. Regina Jones of Florida. All three were burnings. One was called a random act of violence, one was called a suicide, and one was called an insurance arson.”

“Bugger,” Niall said viciously. “Anything else?”

“None of the leaves have a provenance older than 1939. Or if one does, we haven’t found it yet. It’s real slow searching the pre-sixties stuff because most of it is only on microfilm.”

Niall grunted. “That’s Dana’s problem. I want you and Serena at Rarities headquarters. Our plane will be waiting at the Palm Springs airport in two hours.”

“It will wait, all right. Serena and I are going on a little hike before we bail.”

Back in L.A., Niall stared at the phone as though it had licked him. “
Say what?
”

“We’re going hiking.”

“Like bloody hell you are! I’m giving you a direct order to—”

“Dana’s my boss,” Erik cut in. “She gave me my head on this one.”

“Boyo, I’ll
hand
you your head if you fuck this up.”

“Fine.”

That was all Erik said. He didn’t think his boss wanted to hear that if he fucked up, he would probably be out of Niall’s reach. As in dead. Not that Erik was particularly worried about that possibility. Once he left civilization behind, he had the oldest and best ally of all: the land.

“I’m waking Dana up,” Niall said flatly.

“Let her sleep. Whatever she says won’t make any difference. I’m going to have a chat with Bad Billy, and I’m going to do it where he knows he has to listen. Serena’s coming with me. Until this is over, she’ll never be out of my sight. It’s not negotiable.”

“Are you ready to tear up your contract over this?” Niall asked.

“Consider it fucking confetti. You can bring in someone else, but don’t hold your breath expecting Serena’s cooperation. She trusts me like an old friend. A very old one.”

It was just
how
old that didn’t bear thinking about.

“There’s more to this than the manuscript, isn’t there?” Niall said finally.

“Yes. I just wish I knew what.”

“Find out, boyo. The plane will be waiting when you get back from your sunrise jaunt. And leave your communications unit on
GPS
so we’ll know where to find the body.”

“Does that mean I’m not fired?”

“As long as you don’t die before I can kill you myself.”

Niall broke the connection before Erik could.

With a disgusted word, Erik looked at his watch. He had a little time before he began the wild-goose chase. Enough time to scan Serena’s sheets into the computer and forward them to Rarities.

While he was at it, he would take a closer look at the gather marks. There was something about them that tantalized him. There was a pattern he had sensed without realizing it, a pattern that went beyond the natural development of an artist’s style through all the years it took him to complete the Book of the Learned. At least that was the way Erik remembered it.

As for which Erik was remembering, he really didn’t want to know.

S
erena couldn’t ignore the watery noises any longer. She blinked groggily, trying to figure out where she was. When she remembered, she sat up in a rush.

Mr. Picky flexed his claws, hanging on to the blanket and the warm body beneath.

“Erik?” she called out, wincing and coaxing the cat to retract his claws. “Where are you?”

“Well, praise the Lord,” Erik answered from the adjoining bathroom. “She’s alive after all.” He came to the doorway and looked over at her with eyes that gleamed like gold coins. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d killed you the fourth time. Or was it the fifth?”

He was freshly showered and shaved, wearing jeans, flannel shirt, and a lightweight jacket. Looking at him made her heart turn over with memories and new need.

“Want to try again?” she asked before she thought better of it.

“Hell, yes.”

She waited. He didn’t do anything more than look at her like a man who was remembering just how good she tasted.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “you’re going to need your strength for something else.”

“What about you? What do you need?”

“You know damn well what I need, but for now I’ll settle for my hiking boots.”

“Hiking boots,” she muttered beneath her breath, realizing for the first time that he was wearing socks but no shoes. “Of all the things to need before the sun comes up. I suppose the macho dawn raider is going to Braille his way over a mountain instead of sleeping in like any sane person would after a night like we— Let go of me, Picky!”

“What? I can’t hear you,” Erik said, but the hidden laughter in his voice suggested he could. “Better get up, honey. The sun won’t stay down forever.”

“I’ll get up as soon as I get this wretched black hair ball off my stomach.”

This time Erik didn’t bother to swallow his laughter. Obviously Serena wasn’t a morning person. She looked as grumpy as Picky at being disturbed. Not that Erik would have minded crawling into bed with her. In fact, if she stayed there about ten more seconds, he might do just that.

Serena shoved cat and covers aside and surged out of bed before Erik’s evil twin brother could take over again. She stalked toward him, too sleepy to be embarrassed about being naked but for the scarf that slid over her skin.

Erik took a hissing breath through his teeth. Hair a wildfire around her arms and shoulders, skin like pale cream satin, breasts tipped with pure pink, and another fire burning between her thighs.

“Damn, but you’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

She gave him a look of stark disbelief and grabbed her nightgown off the back of the desk chair. The “gown” was a man’s size XXL brushed-silk shirt in a rich shade of teal blue. As a sultry sexual tease, her shirt was a nonstarter. But for comfort and softness against her skin, it beat any expensive lingerie she had ever owned.

He almost groaned at the sight of her wrapped in loose yet clingy folds of silk, her hair a waterfall of fire over her breasts, a fey scarf peeking out from beneath her hair.

With both hands she swiped her hair away from her face. Her braid had come loose during the night, which meant that her hair looked like it had been combed by a hurricane.

Hurricane Erik, to be precise.

“If I’d known you were a dawn raider,” she said distinctly, staring up at him, “I’d have gone to bed earlier.”

“We’ll try that tonight.”

“Going to sleep earlier?” she muttered.

“No. Going to bed earlier.”

She smiled despite the morning grouchies. Now that she was awake enough to know the difference, she felt really good. A little stiff here and there, but humming with energy and at peace with the world. Even her scarf seemed especially soft and springy.

“You look smug,” he said.

“I feel smug.” She stretched.

Erik looked away and told himself all the reasons why he couldn’t take her back to bed. Or on the floor. Or anywhere. The relentless, reckless surge of his own body surprised him. After last night, all through the night, he should have been as hard to raise as the dead.

No such luck.

“Where’s the portfolio?” he asked roughly.

“Bottom drawer of the big dresser, where Picky can’t get to it and sharpen his already lethal claws.”

Erik looked as horrified as he felt. “He wouldn’t.”

“You never had a cat, did you?”

“He would.”

“If he thought of it, yes. As the supposedly smarter of our dynamic duo, it’s up to me to see that Picky doesn’t get an opportunity to do things he shouldn’t do.”

Erik looked at the yarns scattered around, and smiled as he remembered how unexpectedly soft a pile of yarn had felt under his naked back. “What about your weaving stuff? Doesn’t Picky go after it?”

“We had some issues about it at first,” Serena said dryly.

“I’ll bet. Who won?”

“We both did. Picky decided he’d rather stay away from my yarns and looms, and be allowed in the house than be a full-time outside cat.” She yawned, grabbed her hair in both hands, twisted it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, wrapped the scarf around everything, and tied it at the top of her head. She was beginning to take the material’s flexibility and usefulness for granted, as though it was simply another part of her body. “Are you through studying the sheets? Is that why you need the portfolio?”

“I haven’t begun to study them. Your illuminated pages are in the climate-controlled safe along with some other things,” he said. One of which wasn’t the gun. Not anymore. The bloody thing was in a holster at the small of his back, right next to the Rarities communications unit. “I’m going to use the empty portfolio as bait.”

The cool anticipation in his eyes took away the last of Serena’s sleepy fog. “Bait?”

“Get dressed, honey. We’re going for a hike.”

What he didn’t say was that she was part of the bait. At least he was afraid she was. That was why he wasn’t going to leave her in his home by herself, no matter how fancy his security system was. A system was only as good as the speed and quality of the response it got when it sounded the alarm. Without him, the security system was simply a very expensive way to startle unwanted visitors.

Not that he didn’t trust Lapstrake to keep Serena safe.

All right, maybe he didn’t. Not entirely. Reading those files had made him realize that Serena’s grandmother hadn’t been paranoid. She had just known more than he did about what was at stake.

“A hike?” Serena repeated. “You’re kidding.” Then she took another look at his eyes. “You’re not kidding.”

“Right the second time.”

Despite the presence of Lapstrake parked down the street, watching the watcher, Erik didn’t want Serena out of his sight. Even if it had been Niall himself on duty out on the street, Erik wouldn’t have left Serena behind. It wasn’t that he distrusted Niall. He didn’t. Hell, he would leave his sisters to be guarded by Niall—or Lapstrake, if it came to that.

But not Serena.

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t normal. And it wasn’t something Erik could fight in himself. It simply was. He had a grim certainty that something final would happen if he and Serena were divided again.

Nothing had been rational since he had seen Serena’s eyes, the violet eyes of the sorceress in pages a thousand years old come to life. He didn’t need Niall to tell him that he was being unreasonable. He knew it, accepted it, and it changed nothing. He wasn’t going to be separated from her.

End of argument.

“What if I don’t want to go for a hike?” Serena asked, turning away.

“I’ll sympathize every third step.”

“Be still my beating heart.” She flipped open her suitcase, looked at him with unreadable violet eyes, and said, “While I shower and get dressed, take Picky out to a nice sandy spot in your yard. It’s the only type of cat box he recognizes.”

“What if he runs off?”

“He never has, and he travels with me when I have to go to L.A. or San Francisco. He knows just what a highway rest stop is for.”

“Gotcha.”

Erik grabbed the sleepy black fur ball, tucked it under his arm, and headed for the backyard. Picky made a sound that could have been questioning or threatening. Erik chose to believe the former.

“Son, I’m taking you to a sandpile you won’t believe. Best you’ll have until you go to that Great Cat Box in the sky.”

E
rik, wait! I’ve got a rock in my shoe.”

Pausing, he looked back at Serena as he had every few steps since they had started up the steep, dry trail that led away from the equally steep, equally dry dirt road that had dead-ended at the trailhead. The air was crisp, scented with chaparral, and so clear that everything had a knife edge, even the dawn. The first tiny curve of the sun was above the eastern horizon just enough so that long fingers of red and dark gold light speared across the desert. Down on the flats streetlights still glittered and café signs flashed in cold neon rainbows, coaxing sleepy people in for a cup of coffee and a handful of sugared grease.

Below Erik and Serena, perhaps two hundred yards down the mountain, a man-shaped shadow followed them, pausing when they paused, moving when they moved. Unlike them, he didn’t use flashlights to find his way. That told Erik the man was using some kind of night-vision glasses, which was why Erik was tempted to spear him with an occasional blast of “random” flashlight. Through amplifying glasses, even a distant flashlight could be blinding.