The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles) (6 page)

Chapter 7

Shaw stared into the dirty window at Baron Jordan’s face. Or was it his face? He was so freaking confused.

In a few hours he had a date with Lulu, and if he couldn’t get his own face back he’d be toast. He flexed his newly found muscles. They weren’t so bad. But Lulu’d notice them.

As he ran his hand over the salt-and-pepper beard, the ring he’d stolen reflected in the grimy glass. His hand stopped in mid-air.

“Damn, but you’re stupid,” he said to his image. “It’s the freaking ring. That’s why she didn’t want to give it up. It’s got some sort of magic. Shape shifting magic that morphed him into a woman, and me into him.”

What was next? Was he going to go werewolf and bay at the full moon? He had to figure this thing out . . . and fast.

“Think, man, think. You’re not a total idiot. You can get this.”

Take it off. She changed into a man when you took off the ring.

He wrenched the ring off. Nothing happened.

Maybe it took a few minutes to go back. He closed his eyes, counted to fifty, then cautiously snuck a peek.

Still nothing.

Maybe it’s connected to the heart attack thing. Damn, how can I make myself have a heart attack?

From the staccato banging of his heart against his ribcage, he thought he might not have to wait.

But nothing happened.

What was different? Besides being in my own skin then? The ring, it has to be the ring. Think!

The answer came to him in a rush.
The first heart attack came after reading the inscription.

Steeling himself for the expected pain, he held the ring up to catch the sunlight streaking between the buildings and read out loud, “
Fear bean beathach tri an aon.
”

Still nothing. He shoved the ring back on.

Panic snatched at him. Was he going to be stuck like this forever? He stared at the image in the window again, desperately trying to recall his own features. A clean-shaven pointed chin, slightly twisted nose, broken from street fights, and sandy blond hair. The only thing he recognized were the bright blue eyes Lulu said she loved so much.

Suddenly, his hand tingled. Yanking it up he stared at the ring. The red streaks swirled, forming into circles. The tingling shot from his arm to his chest. His gaze flew to the window. His image blurred, the beard fading from his jaw. Lightheaded, he feared he might black out, but he kept his gaze on the window, willing his facial features onto the reflection. He hung onto the brick window ledge as the tingling sensation and pain, which seemed less than the time before, pulsed through his body.

Bit-by-bit, feature-by-feature, Shaw watched his image change back. As the last strand of hair went from gray to sandy blond, the tingling subsided. Exhausted, Shaw slid to the ground. He shoved the hoodie sleeves up, relieved to find his own nearly hairless arms underneath the stretched-out-beyond-repair terrycloth.

Shit.
If this continued he’d need a whole new wardrobe.

Chapter 8

Rhys dropped the file on Captain Williams’ desk. “Got a possible lead.”

The captain peered at Rhys over the top of his reading glasses. “How good a lead?”

“Enough to haul both in for questioning. They threatened Baron’s life.”

Williams flipped through the file. “Martin, get in here,” he yelled. Detective Martin appeared in the doorway. The captain waved the file at him. “Get an APB out on these creeps. I want them in here yesterday.”

Martin took the file. “Sure thing, Cap’n.”

Williams asked Rhys as Martin left the office, “How’s she doing?”

“Chafing under your imposed leave.”

“Any idea who might have broken in?”

“My money’s on the guys in that file. If they don’t have alibis, throw the book at them.” Rhys slammed his hand on the desk so hard a pencil shot across the desk pad. “I’m her partner. I should have been there to protect her.”

The captain caught the escaping projectile. “You can’t blame yourself, Temple.”

“Yeah, I can. I never left a buddy in Iraq who lost a friend. I was there for them. She means much more to me than my war buddies.”

“She didn’t want you there. She needed space.”

“She’s got all I’m giving her. I want next week off. I’m not leaving her alone again.”

“What does she think about that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whether she likes it or not, she’s getting me.”

“What are you going to do? Hide in the bushes?”

“If I have to. I’ve got hunting camo. She won’t catch sight of me if I don’t want her to.”

“She’s going to kick you out.”

“Only if I let her.”

“You got it bad, Temple.” The captain shook his head and chuckled. “Why don’t you two just do it and get it over with? Clear the air.”

Had he heard right? Had the captain suggested he and Alexi . . .?

“Don’t act so surprised. Everyone realizes it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. The guys in the office are laying bets on when and where.”

Had he been that obvious? Had Alexi heard the rumors? “What are the odds?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“Getting shorter by the day, especially since Baron’s death.”

Rhys bristled. “What jerk thinks I’m going to take advantage of her?”

The captain shrugged. “Most everybody.”

Rhys struggled to keep his temper even. “Even you? You frown on office fraternization.”

“Normally I do, but the tension between the two of you is affecting your work. Hell, you might as well take off. You won’t be any good to me worrying about Jordan. Now get outta here and take care of her.”

“I will. Tell the office bookies the odds just jumped to a million to one. I’d never take advantage of any woman like that, especially Alexi. Never.”

“Never say never about matters of the heart, Temple.” The captain waved Rhys off. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Rhys frowned. “About the bet?”

“No. About the case. You keep me updated on her state of mind. I’m not convinced she’s doing as well as you think.”

Rhys nodded. For his own peace of mind he’d be monitoring her. No way would he tell that to the captain.

Alexi wouldn’t be any good to work if she couldn’t get past Baron’s death. She wanted revenge. Revenge ate you from the inside out. But if he did anything to keep her from work, he’d never shorten the odds. Odds he wanted to shorten. Either way, he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

Matters of the heart sucked.

Alexi dialed Sylvia’s number. “It’s Alexi Jordan.”

“Alexi, I wasn’t expecting your call so soon.”

“I found some pictures of you and Baron in an old photo album. I have some questions.”

“About me or about the Society?”

“You . . . and Baron.” She needed to know about the woman’s relationship with her uncle, where she stood. “Could we meet?”

“Of course. Shall I come to your house?”

“No.” The word came out sharper than she intended. “How about lunch somewhere? Tomorrow maybe?”

Sylvia laughed softly. “So you don’t trust me?”

“Should I have a reason not to?” She didn’t like the way this woman saw through her. Her cop sense kicked in a warning.

“Of course not.” Sylvia paused. “I’m not familiar with this town. I’m staying at the Rosebriar Inn. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes.” Near the place where Baron died. Maybe Sylvia knew more about Baron’s death than she said. She might have noticed something or heard talk in the Rosebriar lobby. “There’s a bar and grill called the Dew Drop Inn nearby.”

“I know where that is. Shall we meet there?”

“How about eleven-thirty, tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

“How will I know you? I don’t suppose you look like the teenager in the photos.”

“I am a
bit
older.” Alexi could almost hear the amused smile in Sylvia’s voice. “Use your powers to find me. I’ll wait for you there.”

The line went dead. Use your powers?
What did she mean by that?

Did she mean auras? Why would Sylvia think she could see auras? Sylvia must be able to see them, too, otherwise, how would she know about that Turning Stone power?

Baron seemed anxious when he learned she could see colored shadows around people. He instructed her not to mention it to anyone. Only very special shifters had that power. A chill ran over Alexi. If Sylvia was a higher-level shifter, she needed to be careful.

The doorbell’s insistent ringing drew her attention to the front door. Reaching behind her back, she laid her hand on the grip of her pistol.

“It’s me, Alexi,” Rhys called.

Alexi released the gun and opened the door. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Still jumpy?”

She took a Cantonese Shack take-out bag from Rhys. “No.”

Rhys grinned. “Liar.”

“Normal people don’t punch the doorbell until the pictures on the wall dance.”

Rhys closed the door with his hip and threw the deadbolt with his free hand. “Who says I’m normal?”

He had a point. An ex-Army Ranger sniper who, to this day, carried a knife in his boot definitely wasn’t normal, but she wasn’t going to give him satisfaction by acknowledging that. “I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t.” He headed toward the kitchen, and Alexi trailed after him. “Glad you’re taking your safety seriously.”

She took the other bag from him and began emptying the contents.
Maybe I should have shot him. Blown out some of his irritating arrogance.

“Speaking of safety, I’m bunking with you.”

The take-out box dropped onto the counter. “You’re doing what?”

“You heard me.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Exactly what I’m trying to avoid. Don’t bother to argue, because you won’t win. I’m your partner. I plan to keep you safe.”

She pulled a second and third take-out box from the bag and slammed the last one on the counter. The lid popped open, spewing fried rice across the surface, a perfect underscore to her outburst. Rhys scooped the rice into his cupped hand and dumped it in the sink as if nothing had happened.

“Is this some macho thing? The big man has to keep the little woman safe? I’ve got a newsflash for you—I can take care of myself. I’ve helped you out of plenty of scrapes, mister,” she said, fumbling with the box lid.

Rhys laid his big hand over hers, stilling them.

“I need to pay you back,” he said, tracing the scar on her forearm where she’d blocked a knife meant for him. His voice gentled. “Macho has nothing to do with it, but caring for you does. I don’t want anything to happen to you, Lexi.”

Her anger melted. Maybe she wouldn’t shoot him. “I don’t want anything to happen to me either. If the intruder comes back, and you got hurt, I would never forgive myself.”

“Won’t happen.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I’ll sleep in the guest room upstairs.”

“That would work.” Alexi clamped her mouth shut before a more damaging invitation spilled out
. I can’t believe I just said that. Girl, you’ve got no willpower. If he’s upstairs, you might as well just open your bedroom door.

“On second thought, there’s a couch in Baron’s office.” That was far enough away from her bedroom that she wouldn’t accidentally run into him in her PJs, which he might take as an invitation.

“Perfect. I’m close to the front door in case an intruder breaks in.”

“Hey, you said you wanted to protect me.”

Rhys held his hands up, palms facing her. “I’m not complaining. Just thinking things through.”

“I’ll bring some linens down. You can use the downstairs guest bath.”

“Okay.” Rhys started to leave the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my suitcase.”

“You packed already?”

“Eagle Scouts are always prepared.”

Could he read her so easily that he knew she’d give in?

“Besides, I wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

For a minute, Alexi wondered if she’d spoken what she’d thought.

Rhys grinned at her. “I know you.” He kissed her on top of the head.

She was in deep trouble now.

She watched his sexy backside disappear through the kitchen doorway. This complicated things. How was she going to get away for her meeting with Sylvia without him tagging along? And how was she going to resist the man if she was with him twenty-four-seven?

Chapter 9

Shaw ran his hand over his chin one last time before ringing the bell to Lulu’s apartment. No beard. He hadn’t discovered what had made him change into Baron Jordan earlier. And he didn’t want a repeat performance in front of Lulu. Satisfied he had on his own face, he slicked his hair back and punched the doorbell.

“Danny,” Lula squealed as she opened the door. She hugged him and dragged him into the apartment. “I missed you.”

“Me, too, babe.” He slid his arm around her plump waist, but she forced him toward the kitchen before he could kiss her. Piles of wedding magazines lay on the table.
Damn. She’s not going to let me fool around tonight.
When Lulu was in wedding plan mode, nothing else happened.

Lula moved two kitchen chairs together and motioned for Shaw to sit next to her. “Guess what I want us to do at our wedding?”

“What?”
How many jobs am I going to have to do now to pay for whatever this is?

“Dance.”

That’s unexpected.
Dancing ranked right up there with the devil liquor, according to Lulu’s grandma. That Lulu considered going against Grandma’s wishes shocked the hell out of him.

When he didn’t answer right away, Lulu shoved a
Today’s Bride
magazine at him. “Everyone’s dancing at their weddings. It’s so chic—”

“What the hell does ‘shick’ mean?” All he could think of was the razor commercial. Lula punched his arm playfully. He cringed and tried to keep from flinching. It was sore from today’s Incredible Hulk experience.

“It means sophisticated, you silly goose. We’ll dance our first dance as a married couple to our song.”

Our first dance ever.
Then the last two words registered
.
“We have a song?”

Lulu giggled. “Not yet. We have to pick one.”

“And what does Grandma say about this?”

“She’s not speaking to me right now. She thinks dancing at my wedding is silly and vain . . . and sinful.”

It is silly.
But there was no way he would say that to Lulu. She’d been planning her wedding since she was a young girl, and she changed what she wanted as often as a mother changed a newborn.

“You don’t think I’m silly, do you?”

“No, babe. You should have whatever you want for your big day. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy.”

Lulu put her arms around him and planted a big, wet kiss on his mouth. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

He tried to get hold of her again, but she wiggled away. “Not now. We got to talk.” Her voice sounded serious. “Now that you agreed to the wedding dance, we got a little problem.”

Because I agreed, we got a problem?
How the heck had it suddenly become his fault?

“The church won’t allow us to dance in the fellowship hall, so we have to find another place for the reception, and another place is going—”

“To cost more money.” Every conversation about the wedding cost him more money.

“I thought maybe you could get another part-time job.” Lulu put on her sad, puppy-dog face. “You done so well with your new one, I hoped you might be able to. . .”

He melted. When those big brown eyes focused on him he could never resist her. “Sure, babe. I guess I could ask for a few more hours.”
Fence some more hot stuff.
Mug a few more marks.

He thought about his last take, the murder, and the magic ring.
Shit!
He had a gold mine right on his finger. If he could figure out how to control changing into Jordan, he could mug and rob without getting caught. After all, how do you pin a rap on a dead guy? It was the perfect solution.

“Go ahead and book us a reception hall, babe. I got it covered.”

Lulu jumped off her chair onto his lap. “You’re the best fiancé a girl ever had, Danny. I love you so much!” She cradled his face in her hands and laid a big kiss on him.

Now that was more like it.
Danny drew her closer into his arms. “I love you too, babe. Nothing’s too much for my Lulu.” He shoved all thoughts of what he’d have to do to keep Lulu happy out of his mind. All he wanted to think about now was his girl, in his arms, kissing him.
Damn, I’m one lucky dick.