THE RISK OF LOVE AND MAGIC (9 page)

“You look gorgeous, and the general would have to be blind not to recognize you. We’ll just stick to shadows.” Watching her preen, Magnus shrugged on a blue plaid flannel shirt over his muscle-revealing black t-shirt. “Let’s reconnoiter.”

Gorgeous? Nadine narrowed her eyes to study his expression. She hadn’t taken him for a charming liar, but there were times . . .

He took the stairs down and left her trailing behind—again. Not charming. Still uncertain about liar. Looked good in jeans though.

It wasn’t quite dark as they strolled toward the little row of businesses along the main beach. The café’s patio had overhead heaters to warm the overflow crowd. Acoustic guitar strummed over the gentle pounding of surf. Nadine knew that relaxed people weren’t as likely to thrust their angst into the ether to give her headaches. If she could just keep from having any more fits . . .

She’d only partially lied about working 24/7 all her life. Most of it, she’d spent terrified of making a spectacle of herself in public. Work had been her haven.

But after months of being deprived of anything close to a life, she wanted to
live.
And in some way, Magnus made it easier to face the world.

She attempted to soak up every sensation, the muted conversation of the crowd, the smoke from the fire in the outdoor fireplace, the mellow notes of the musician—and the big man holding a hand to her waist and guiding her expertly to a table in the shadows.

She felt like a butterfly struggling to shed her chrysalis.

She let Maximus Grandus order fancy coffees. Her college nights had been spent sitting at a computer and drinking what was plainly raw sewage compared to the brew handed to her here.

She sank into the lovely music, tapping her hands on the table to the beat. Her toes drummed time. She swayed to the lilting songs. To her disappointment, no one danced. She wanted to watch and learn. If she lived, maybe she could find a DVD to teach her. She was dying to get up and move.

The musician slipped into a slow song. She finished her coffee and regretfully realized the beautiful evening had to end. Mad Max had been patient with her need for escape, but she couldn’t expect him to stay here all night. There were still half a dozen more places she could hunt for Vera. The internet was riddled with hiding holes.

As if understanding the geek was back, Magnus took her hand and helped her from the seat. Women turned to watch him, but he didn’t seem to be aware of it. Nadine wanted to stick her tongue out at all the elegant, slender young things—not a mature reaction, she realized. She should be allowed one episode of teenage irrationality. This was her moment to walk off with the prom king. She grinned at her own silliness.

He led her away from the patio, down the steps to a secluded shadow on the beach where the haunting music lingered.

To her startlement, he swung her around to face him, held one hand behind her back and the other in the air.

“Waltz,” he said gravely. “Simple steps. Place your left hand on my shoulder and just follow me.”

How had he known? In amazement, Nadine gingerly placed her hand on his hard, muscled shoulder. The sensation nearly froze her.

To the lilting tune from the café, she shuffled in the sand, trying to follow him. Off balance at being held this close to a man without beating him with her fists, Nadine couldn’t immediately relax. But the night and the music and maybe the special coffee worked their magic, and her feet miraculously caught the pattern he was teaching her.

She was just starting to loosen up and thrill with the movement when Magnus swept her backward with the final notes of the song.

He was leaning over her, his hand braced on her back, his mouth not inches away, his gaze staring into hers.
Thrill
didn’t even come close to describing the sensation paralyzing her.

“Not the time or place,” he said with what sounded like genuine regret as he stood her back up. “Maybe after we find your sister.”

Not the time or place for what? Had he really meant to
kiss
her? “Maybe after you kill the general?” she asked lightly, trying to cover how badly the moment had shaken her and that she was not quite herself. The Nadine she knew wouldn’t have asked such a leading question. Or recognized that he might actually be talking about . . . kissing. She hoped.

“So, maybe we’re not the right people either. Let’s go,” he said abruptly, catching her hand and dragging her back to the stairs, ruining the moment with their reality.

The musician announced a break, and Nadine saw no point in lingering. Uncertain whether she was sad or glad that Magnus had more sense than she did, she trudged back toward the B&B.

His phone rang before they reached the house.

He answered, uttered a curse, punched a link, and held up the screen so she could see.

The nightly news was showing an old photo of Nadine with Vera, saying they’d been kidnapped and asking for the public’s help in finding them.

***

They dived for their computers the instant they reached their room. Magnus didn’t waste time wondering what the hell he’d been thinking by almost kissing La Loca. He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been
doing,
as usual. To him, sex was sex. Not to his companion, though. He knew better.

Rather than think about what he’d almost done, or how damned
good
she’d felt and smelled in his arms, he called up more links to news reports. He consulted with Conan while Nadine wept and rattled her keyboard. Evidently, she hadn’t expected the general to call the cops— or hunt the sister who had left years ago.

“How long has Vera been off the general’s radar?” Magnus asked as he studied an image of the two girls as young teens. Vera had dark straight hair she wore in bangs. She was smaller than Nadine and wasn’t wearing glasses in the photos. The image definitely wasn’t of a college age woman.

“Two years. We smuggled her out after high school graduation. She’s been on her own for
two years
! How could he do this?” She typed more furiously, calling up more news clips.

“You said she’s a wannabe actress. She should know how to disguise herself,” Magnus said, trying to be reassuring. “I’m going down to the drugstore to get you some hair dye and bigger sunglasses. I take it those aren’t reading glasses?”

“No.” She scrunched up her little nose and looked up at him. “Mild astigmatism. I need them for the computer or in dim light. Can I be a blonde?”

“Your hair might end up green. Best just to take it a few shades darker.”

“How do you know?”

Magnus shrugged. He didn’t like talking about Diane, but Nadine deserved answers. “Had a girlfriend who used to change her hair every month.”

“An ex-girlfriend?” she asked warily, studying him from behind the ugly glasses.

“Late girlfriend. She’s dead.” Before she could ask more, Magnus strode out, hoping to hit the drugstore before it closed.

Hoping to escape the need to explain.

She was still at the computer when he returned. When she glanced up, he saw pity in her eyes. The damned Librarian had been dredging internet archives again. Diane’s death had hit all the Alaskan newspapers. His name had been mentioned.

He hated having his life or his psyche dissected, and he hated seeing pity in anyone’s eyes. That’s why he didn’t talk about Diane.

“Did you find Diane’s body?” she asked. “Is that why you go mean sometimes?”

In disgruntlement, he threw his purchases on her bed. “Yes, I found her body, in the bathtub. She considerately left the water on and the drain open in an insane gesture of cleaning up for herself after we’d argued about the mess she’d made of the bedroom.”

“She was the nut, not you,” Nadine reminded him, unsympathetically.

“Manic-depressive, I’m told, but she refused treatment. I’m the idiot who didn’t recognize the symptoms and make her get help.” Irritated, he pointed at the packages. “We’ll leave here first thing in the morning. Conan’s looking for a place where we can hide out. The address you gave us is a school. Conan has a guy watching it. A photo of your sister may help him. I don’t suppose you have anything more recent than the one the TV is showing?”

“Sent it to you already.” As if she’d completely blanked his gruesome explanation of Diane’s death, she stood up and examined his purchases, trying on the wrap-around sunglasses and making faces. “I hope we’re going somewhere sunny to justify these. I’m not exactly movie star material.”

“How many movie stars have you seen?” he asked grumpily, returning to his computer.

“None,” she agreed. “But they’re always wearing sunglasses in the images online. The photos I sent you are ones Vera posted on Facebook from her drama class’s theater production. She played several roles and wore several wigs. She could look like anything now. The general won’t have any new photos to pass around. He quit playing dad after Mom died.”

“How did your mother die?” Magnus had to ask, because it might take him closer to the general.

“The same way your girlfriend did.” She stalked into the bathroom carrying the hair dye and scissors.

After that ambiguous and ominous statement, the scissors worried him. Diane had slit her wrists, but she’d used a kitchen knife.

Nadine’s mother had slit her wrists? Or committed suicide by other means? Magnus propped his head on his palm and pushed to block the black thoughts.

Depression might be genetic, but Nadine didn’t strike him as depressed.

Of course, like Nadine, Diane had foolishly appealed to his Zorro complex. He’d thought she needed his help and that he was good for her. He had been clueless about Diane’s emotional state. He’d just considered her mood swings to be part of who she was and accepted the bad with the good.

He refused to accept responsibility for Nadine’s emotional state. He would keep her physically safe, if possible, but that was his limit.

She emerged half an hour later with damp dark hair trimmed almost to her ears. He hated it.

“I guess my eyebrows and lashes are dark enough,” she said doubtfully, staring into the mirror. “I don’t know if making them blacker would help.”

“You’d have to hide the natural arch of your brow and the length of your lashes, then wear a ton of make-up to hide the fullness of your lips. Just wear the shades unless you want to go Muslim.”

She turned and raised her sinfully expressive reddish brown arches at him. “You noticed my
lashes
?”

“Hard to miss.” Magnus refused to meet her eyes but zoomed in on one of the TV images full screen so she could see. “You and your sister both have large green eyes framed with heavy lashes. You hide yours with glasses.”

Those lashes had swept her cheeks and hidden her expression when he’d almost kissed her. But her lips had been pouty and ready—then. He really needed to get a grip.

“Right. I need to let this dye set. If you want to go on to bed, I’ll work with the lights off.” She settled cross-legged on her bed. “I’ve remembered the names of some more of Vera’s friends. She hasn’t been doing social media under her name since she left for college, for obvious reasons, but her friends might have more photos under her assumed name. This could take me a while. Hacking Facebook is like stepping into a rattlesnake nest.”

“I don’t get much sleep when I’m on a project.” Magnus turned back to his work on the general’s grandsons. Adams had had four sons. Dorrie had killed one and gotten another locked away. She may have killed one of the grandsons, as well, although the doctors had claimed it was a brain tumor. Conan’s mild-mannered wife-to-be was the kind of deadly weapon the general had accused of killing Po-po.

That left two more sons and half a dozen grandsons to track. He could wield his contacts to find files on a military man who had sent his sons and possibly his grandsons in his footsteps.

Magnus heard the hair dryer switch off some time later. Unlike his brother Conan, he was attune to his surroundings at all times.

Insanely, he was particularly attuned to Nadine.

She slipped silently into the darkened bedroom where he was bent over the desk with a lamp shining on his keyboard. He tried not to look up, but he couldn’t resist.

Her insistence that she was fat, and her surprise every time he offered a candid compliment, kept him intrigued by the workings of the female mind. Did women
really
think he was looking at the sparkle on their jeans?

She was too much in shadow to see clearly. “Turn the light on,” he told her.

She hesitated, then only turned the bathroom light on behind her. She was wearing a long blue nightshirt that clung in all the right places.

“My hair, Maximus,” she reminded him, pointing at her head to force his gaze upward. “Am I invisible yet?”

He studied what she’d done. She’d chopped off all her quirky curls and straightened what was left into short tendrils on her nape and forehead that emphasized her narrow chin and big eyes. “You’ve turned yourself into Tinkerbelle,” he said, almost in disappointment. “I liked your hair long.”

“Tinkerbelle has blond hair, not brown,” she corrected, studying her reflection. “I’ve always wondered what I would look like if I had normal hair.”

“Not like yourself. A geek should look intelligent, not like a lost waif. It’s a good look, but it’s not you.” He couldn’t explain better than that.

She sent him one of those enigmatic looks that women had perfected.

“Maybe I don’t want to be a geek. Maybe I should be a beautician. I could set my own hours then.”

“If you can change your hair that much, you’d probably be good at it—until you slit the throat of the first hag who criticized your work.” He turned off his computer and stood, unable to cope with the vibrations she emanated. “Go on to bed. I’m taking a shower.”

“Maybe Dorrie will teach me
dim mak
,” she said ominously.

“Maybe you could slay men with your eyes,” he agreed, before shutting the door between them.

Slay men with her eyes!
If only she could.

Magnus hadn’t seemed to appreciate her new pixie look. It had taken a mess of product and a hot dryer to straighten the curls.