Somewhere I'll Find You (10 page)

“I wish I could,” he muttered, “but I’d be a liar.”

This can’t be happening,
she thought frantically.
 
Still
,
reality set in with the pounding of
Michael’s
heart above hers.
 
This
can’t
be happening!

Hi
s nerves were stretched razor sharp
as
he waited in the darkness.  “If someone is going to make a move, it’s going to be soon, while they have fear on their side.”

“Fear?” she muttered.  “Who . . . who is afraid?”

“That’s the spirit, Angel.”

Around them, the rain pelted down in big, nosy drops that pinged against the flagstones in front of the house and drummed against the rich, dark earth.  When her teeth began to chatter, she told herself it was from the cold, not fear.  Still she was immensely grateful for Michael’s warmth and the comforting strength of his body.  It was almost enough to lull her into thinking t
hat the shot had never sounded at all
.

But it
was then that she felt that faint prickling at her neck. 
Danger.
  She touched it, read it clearly, feeling cold hatred probing them in the darkness.  Focusing on the threat, she found it just beyond the line of trees.  But who, she wondered.  And why?

Reaching out, she challenged the shadows, courting the cold silence.  And found nothing.  Was the shooter gone, or had her insight failed her?  Blinking back tears of frustration, Paige vehemently wished that her visions came clearer
, if they had to come at all.

Above her, Michael
shifted slightly
, his lips inches from her ear.  “When I tell you
to
, run for the house.  But not until I give you the word.  I’ll try heading for that hedge.  If I draw fire, you stay put.  And stay down, no matter what happens.”

“But how can anyone see in this ink soup?” she rasped.

“Infrared scopes and
laser sights
do come in handy.” 
How in the hell did she get mixed in all of this?
 
Michael wondered.
  She’s clueless and caught in the middle of  . . . something.
 
With a slight move of his shoulder, Michael continued
.
“If there is no repeat fire, you head for the house.  If someone is still out there, they will be watching me, not you.”

At least they had better be.

“But . . .”

“No more questions.  Get ready to move.”

Biting back her questions, Paige felt his muscles tense.  Slamming to his feet, Michael pounded zigzag style toward a scrubby black hedge.  When there was no answering movements in the darkness, she saw Michael gesture sharply. 

Time to go . . . 

Squinting against the rain, Paige stumbled to her feet, making her way to the door.  At the threshold, she turned, peering into the darkness, only to see that Michael had already disappeared.

It seemed to take forever for him to return.  When he did, his jacket was stained, his pants streaked with mud, and his face
was
bloodless from the strain.  Watching her from the doorway, he dropped his hands into his pockets. 
For someone who has just been shot at, she’s taking it pretty calmly.  Most
people
would be in hysterics by now.

“Are you al
l right
?”
She was silently pleased to see that her hands were steady as she swiftly poured
him
a brandy. 
He protected you with his body,
Paige thought. 
And didn’t think twice about it.
  Perhaps she had misjudged him.  She shook the thoughts away and focused on his pale,
tense
face.  “Did you find anything?”

“Perhaps you should go change.”  He moved to the fire, staring into the snapping flames, one arm braced along the mantle.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Without turning his head,
Michael simply nodded in the direction of the long, sweeping staircase.  “I think it would be best if you got out of those damp clothes.”

As she turned to leave, Paige chanced one more look in his direction.  He was standing before the fire, shoulder
s rigid,
his expression hidden in the shadows.  It didn’t take a psychic to
see
that
he was furious, and no
amount of shadow could hide the fact
from her.

* * * *

A warm shower had worked miracles on stopping the chill that had seeped right to her bones.  But the gnawing concern about the man in her living room was something that no amount of soap and water was going to wash away.  Wrapped in a towel
,
she grabbed her cell f
rom her dresser, punching in the numbers to Miles’ private line. 
When
she heard his familiar voice
, Paige got straight to the point.

“All right, do you want to tell me who Michael Sinclair is – and don’t tell me that he’s just a friend of a friend.  What did you think he was going to do, seduce me into agreeing to this little assignment of yours?”

There was a long pause.  One long enough to
leave Paige seething with anger
. 
“Miles?  I asked you a question,
”
she snapped.  “And I’d appreciate an
honest
answer to it –
now
.”

Silently, Miles cursed the muddied waters.  He had never been quite certain of Sinclair’
s claim of a ‘dream girl’,
always suspecting that there was more to it than what his friend had divulged.  Torn between duty and friendship, Miles wasn’t
sure
that a long stint in Siberia wouldn’t be more preferable
than the situation he now faced. 
“Are you all right?” he asked as he watched rain streak
down
his hotel windows.

“No, I’m not all right.” She answered tersely.  “I have a man downstairs with only a recommendation from Serena and a claim that he knows Carver.  I’ve been shot at . . . and I have no idea why or by whom
,
and it’s not something that I wish to report to the police,
is it
?”

“No,” he answered firmly, wondering how bad Siberia could really be. 
Careful
,
Miles, let’s not tip anyone’s hand
quite
yet.
  “I’m not going to deny that he and I go back a long, long way.  But Paige, he has absolutely nothing to do with what we discussed. 
In fact, although I hate to admit it, he’s considered in some corners to be a loose cannon.”

She stretched out on her bed, her scowl deepening. 
“Would you care to explain that?”

“If you think about it, you already know half the answer.  If he know
s both Carver and myself . . .
” Miles
counted to ten, waiting in silence
for Paige to add the numbers together
.
 
Sinclair couldn’t have shown up at a better time, however, if she’s being shot at …

“Well?” she said impatiently.  “Are you going to finish or do I have to drag it out of you?”

“A few years back,” Miles began, “
he had an assignment that took him straight into the midst of the Royal family
.
Some radicals, trying to make a point,
attempted
to kidnap some cousins of
the Queen
’
s.  In the aftermath, four
people
were killed.  All
of them were
teenagers.
”

Feeling an odd lurch in her stomach, she
rose anxiously to her feet and paced about as she
mentally sorted through the evening
’
s events. 

“Paige?”  Miles’ voice echoed his concern over the cell.  “Are you still there?”

“I’m here, Miles,
” she affirmed wearily.  “I
s there anything else I should know?”

“See here, I’m going to give you some advice, no matter if you’ve asked for it or not.  If you’re in trouble, I have to say that there isn’t anyone better to protect you than him. 
And
for whatever reason
Michael
appeared, the only thing that I can assure you of is that he has nothing, and, I repeat
,
nothing to do with the matter we discussed.”

Flipping her phone
abruptly
shut,
nearly snapping off the end of Miles’ words,
Paige’s eyes glanced about the room that had always been her sanctuary.
  She let her eyes drink in the surroundings, trying to echo in herself the calm that she found there.

The walls were painted ivory, trimmed in a warm green.  Pretty Priscilla drapes hung over the large windows.  The
bed on which she’d briefly laid was a
four-poster
affair
, draped with a watercolor quilt, w
ith
plump pillows
that
beckoned to her.  A glass vase of freesias sat on an elegant Queen Anne desk, while the scent of potpourri wafted from a bowl on the bureau.  It was warm, feminine, and totally hers.  For a moment, she found herself wondering how Michael
would fit in this utterly feminine
room.  Shaking her head, she banished the thought from her mind.  Despite Miles’ advice, she wanted that man out of her home . . . and her
life . . . as soon as possible.

Michael Alexander Sergei Sinclair, Viscount of Dunwell and Tenth Earl of Ashton, stood below in her living room, his gaze fixed on the glowing fire.  Paige was different from the woman he had dreamed
she would be
.  She was smart, stubborn and brave, fascinating him in ways that surpassed any of his dreams.  She also deserved to know why she had been shot at.