Wickedly Dangerous (10 page)

*   *   *

WHEN HE CAME
back in, Baba was sitting on the couch, her bad leg up on the dog's furry back and a bottle of beer in her right hand. The tank top and shorts she wore did a nice job of exposing the extent of the road rash on her left side, and Liam hissed through his teeth in sympathy at the sight.

“That's got to smart,” he said, trying not to stare at her long, slim thighs. The bright red blood dripping from her left knee proved to be distracting enough. “Are you
sure
you don't want me to take you to the emergency room?”

Baba shook her head. “Machines instead of medicine; no thank you. I told you—I'm a fast healer. A couple of these,” she lifted her beer, “and a good night's sleep, and I'll be fine.”

“Right. I don't think so.” He found a silver bowl and a linen cloth where she'd placed them on the counter, and winced at putting them to such rough usage. Who kept silver bowls in an RV, anyway? Apparently the woman who was currently oozing blood all over a velvet-covered sofa without a qualm.

He placed the bowl and his first aid kit on the coffee table and got to work, perched next to Baba on the edge of the couch. The scrape along her jaw looked raw and sore, and he had to fight the temptation to kiss it and make it better, settling for a little antibiotic ointment instead. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but the knee and elbow were both full of gravel that had to be cleaned out before he could bandage them. Baba's face was white and set; she looked like some classical European statue of a goddess. If the goddess was covered with bruises and had black tar and grit ground into her skin.

“It's a good thing you wear leathers,” Liam said as he picked out a couple of deeply embedded bits of stone with a pair of tweezers that looked tiny in his big hands. “This could have been a lot worse.” He blotted away a fresh upwelling of blood and winced. “Not that it isn't bad enough. I'm sorry if I'm hurting you.”

Baba shrugged, although he noticed she took a long pull on her beer before saying, “My adoptive mother had a saying about such things.” She rattled off a couple of sentences in Russian that sounded like a coffee grinder running in reverse. “It means, roughly, pain is mostly mind over matter: if you don't mind, it doesn't matter.”

A chuckle escaped. “My old football coach had pretty much the same saying, only he usually made you do fifty push-ups after he said it.”

They both laughed, and Liam could feel a little of the accumulated tension slip away from his shoulders. After patting the knee dry, he dabbed some antibiotic ointment on it and started carefully wrapping a sterile dressing around the joint. Now that the worst part of the job was over, he tried not to look longingly at the beer dangling loosely from Baba's long-fingered hand.

A blunt head nudged his leg and he looked down in amazement to see Chudo-Yudo sitting at his feet, a beer bottle lightly clenched between alarmingly large white teeth.

“Wow,” he said, taking it carefully from his unusual waiter and prying the top off with his Swiss Army knife. “That's a very helpful dog.”

Baba just rolled her eyes. “Nice,” she said to the huge white animal. “You're two for two. Let's not push our luck, eh?”

As usual, Liam felt like he was missing half the conversation—the half that made sense, at that. So he changed the subject back to the issue that had brought him out here in the first place.

“I hate to bully my patients,” he said, tucking in the ends of the bandage and pushing his hair out of his eyes before starting to wrap her elbow. “But would you like to tell me why you thought it was a good idea to hassle Maya Freeman?”

Baba's usual bland expression clouded over with the hint of a frown.

“I was hoping to catch her off guard and get her to admit to something,” she confessed. “Not much of a plan, I know. But I thought at least if I said
something
, she'd know that someone was on to her, and no more children would disappear.”

Liam said through gritted teeth as he packed up the rest of the first aid supplies, “You do realize that if Maya
is
involved, you have just warned her that you know she is involved, and that will make her much less likely to lead us to the children that have already gone missing.” He didn't bother to point out that if Maya were really the culprit, Baba might have even put herself in danger; she'd already had a rough enough evening.

Baba sighed and swung her legs up onto the coffee table, her furry footrest having moved off to nap in front of the refrigerator, as if he was afraid that someone would steal something precious out of it while he slept. A slight snore rattled the cupboards.

“I said it wasn't much of a plan, didn't I?” She let her head droop back onto the crimson velvet cushion behind her, ebony lashes fluttering down to cover those remarkable eyes. “It is remotely possible that I may have acted a tad hastily. It's only that I keep thinking about those children . . .”

Liam swallowed back all the retorts that had been about to zip out of his mouth like angry bees. “Yeah. I get that.” He shook his head, forgetting that Baba's eyes were still closed and she couldn't see him. Then he had to push that damned hair out of the way again. Any day now, he was going to find time to get it cut. Like when he was applying for another job because he'd been fired from this one.

“You know, you could have waited,” he said, trying not to let his frustration at her lack of faith in him show. After all, they'd just met; how was she to know that he took every lead seriously? Even hers. “I did actually check Ms. Freeman out more thoroughly, and everything looks perfect. No history of trouble with the law, excellent references from her last job—not so much as a parking ticket.”

Baba sat up, grimacing a little, and turned to face him. She leaned in closer, until he could feel the heat coming off her body, and locked eyes with him.

“Sheriff,” she said, her tone level and matter-of-fact. “If you did the same for me, I assure you, all my information would look perfect too. But almost all of it is a
lie
. Some people have ways of getting around the truth, ways you can't possibly understand. But you can take my word for it: Maya is not at all what she seems.”

Liam believed her, although that in itself was almost as disturbing as the fact that she'd just admitted to lying to him. “What, so are you saying that you and Maya are both in the CIA, or the Mafia or something?”

Baba leaned back again, that teasing half smile flitting across her lips. “Oh, no, Sheriff, something much worse than that.” For a moment, it almost seemed as though she was going to add something, until the sound of ringing broke the moment and chased the words away.

BABA HAD TO
swallow a laugh at the look of stunned amazement on Liam's face. He pulled out his phone and gazed at it as though it had been transmuted into a kaleidoscope, or some other completely unexpected object.

“I don't believe it,” he said, still staring at the ringing object in his palm. “I never get service out here.”

“Must be magic,” Baba said lightly. “Aren't you going to answer that?”

He shook himself and flipped the phone open. She tried without success to follow his half of the conversation, which mostly consisted of variations on, “Yup, uh-huh, that's great.” Chudo-Yudo roused himself with a dragonish snort and meandered over to find out what was going on, bringing Baba another beer. This one had a sizable chunk missing from the neck, but she nudged it back into place with a finger flick before Liam could notice.

“It's Bob,” Liam said, pulling the phone away from his ear for a moment. “From the auto shop. I had him go out and pick up your bike.”

Baba bit back a sharp reply. Nobody touched her motorcycle but her. Chudo-Yudo growled softly and she gave him an imperceptible shake of the head. The sheriff meant well, and she could reclaim it in the morning when she was back up to full strength. Or in the middle of the night, if she was really feeling twitchy about it.

Liam continued, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to getting his ass handed to him on a platter. “Bob says the damage isn't as bad as it looks. The frame isn't twisted, and he can mend the front fender, bend the handlebars back into shape, and replace the tire. A decent paint job will take longer, but you should be back on the road in a week or so.” He gave her a broad, white smile, clearly proud of himself.

Baba vacillated between irritation that he'd dealt with the issue without her permission and gratitude that the motorcycle wasn't as badly mangled as it had first appeared.

Eventually, gratitude won out and she managed to say, more or less graciously, “Thanks. You can tell Bob to fix the metal bits; I can take care of the paint job myself. I'd rather not be without the bike any longer than I have to.” She could feel the space where it was supposed to sit outside the Airstream like an empty socket from a missing tooth. “Tell him I'll pay double if he can put a rush on it.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at that but relayed the message. A startled look flitted across his face at Bob's reply, and he gazed at the phone thoughtfully for a moment after he hung up.

“He said you don't have to pay him double, but he'd really appreciate it if you could make him an herbal remedy for his father's gout. They share the garage, and when the gout is acting up, the old man is as grumpy as a hibernating bear.” Liam shook his head. “He said someone told him about you when he was in Bertie's this morning and he was going to contact you anyway.”

Baba was pleased. It was probably irrational, but she felt better being able to barter for part of the work. When she was growing up, that was the way it was done. The previous Baba was paid in chickens far more often than in coin.

“Excellent,” she said, already thinking of which herbs she might use from her current stock and which ones she would need to forage for. “I'll make him up something right away.”

Liam patted her leg, carefully avoiding the bruised bits that were already turning vibrant purples and blues, like a garden of pansies sprung up overnight. “Don't worry about the bike,” he said, sympathy softening his tone. “Bob is a wizard with anything that has wheels and a motor.”

“I don't need a wizard,” Baba said, rolling her eyes. Wizards tended to be annoying and smell like sulfur. Too many alchemical formulas and not enough bathing. “I just need a mechanic.”

“What?” Liam looked confused for a second, then laughed. “You have the strangest sense of humor.” A shadow wiped the smile away, leaving somber lines behind.

Baba braced herself, fingers clenched around the sweating beer bottle. One cold drop ran over a knuckle and hit the floor with a silent plop. In the woven carpet under her feet, a tiny lizard flicked its tongue out to catch the unexpected moisture. Why did she find him so attractive? He did nothing but annoy her. Well, bandage her wounds and annoy her. How was it possible he could make her feel like this?

“Look, we have to talk about this Maya thing,” Liam said, reluctance giving his deep voice a sharper than usual edge. “I don't understand why you are so sure she is involved in the disappearance of all these children. Most crimes are motivated by love, money, or revenge—which one do you think this is?” He tilted his head, apparently willing to listen to her reasoning, although clearly not expecting to agree with it.

Baba tried to figure out something that would make sense to him. As an explanation, “She's using magic and I'm pretty sure she tried to kill me with it,” wasn't likely to go over well.

“Maya works for Peter Callahan,” Baba said slowly, feeling her way. “Big money there. And she told me that he has a lot of influence in this area now. I have a feeling that the kidnappings have something to do with one or both of those.”

Liam pondered this for a minute. “Are you suggesting Maya is stealing the children and selling them to raise money for Callahan's drilling project? Or trading them to people who want small children for some kinky reason in exchange for influence in some way?” He looked doubtful, but was apparently giving the idea due consideration, in the manner of a lawman who isn't willing to rule out any possibility, no matter how improbable. “There are a lot of very rich people involved with the oil and gas industry overseas. Do you think they're shipping the kids out of the country? That would explain why there has been no trace of them.”

Then he shook his head. “No, no way. It's just too Movie of the Week.” At Baba's baffled look, he added, “Too far-fetched. Peter Callahan has a lot invested in pushing this fracking thing through—he stands to make millions if it all goes according to plan—but I can't see him doing anything so drastic.”

He tapped one finger against his empty beer bottle before putting it down next to the first aid kit and saying in a low voice, “Peter Callahan might be a son of a bitch, but he has a young son of his own. I can't believe he would be involved in selling children for some kind of twisted business advantage.” Baba hoped she was wrong too, but she had less faith in humanity than he did. Still, if that was what was happening, surely they'd be subtler about it.

But the children had to be going somewhere. If Maya wasn't just killing them (and sadly, that was still a possibility), then what was she doing with them? A glimmer of an idea floated to the surface of her brain, like a will-o'-the-wisp in a swamp full of marsh gas; flitting to and fro, impossible to pin down. But something, nonetheless.

“Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way,” she said, trying to grasp the errant notion.

Liam grunted and shoved himself to his feet, fatigue showing in the long lines of his body and the shadows that hung under his eyes. “There is no
we
here, Ms. Yager. Let me be perfectly clear about that.” He met her glare with a steady gaze.

“I'll give this all some thought, and I'll look into it in any way I can, but you need to stay away from Maya Freeman, Peter Callahan, and anyone else associated with the gas company. There is only so much I can do to protect you.”

Baba snorted through her nose, wishing she could breathe flames like Chudo-Yudo. It would serve the sheriff right if she accidentally set him on fire. “I don't need you to protect me, Sheriff. I have been taking care of myself for a very long time.”

She gave him a measured look. “On the other hand, I have been told that you are a broken man, and that's why they don't consider you a threat. Is that true?” Maybe it was tactless to ask, but if she was going to have to rely on him for an ally, even a reluctant one, she needed to know for sure that she could depend on him. And she'd never been known for her tact.

A hint of color touched his strong cheekbones. He looked, for a moment, as though he might stalk off without answering. One deep breath brought him back under control with an effort that bespoke of long practice. Baba suddenly found herself reassessing his constant calm, which she sometimes found so provoking, and seeing a vision of an armored wall instead, built brick by brick with bloody fingers.

“No,” he said. And the pain in his eyes was so deep, for a moment, she almost forgot the question. “Not broken. Just a little banged up. Kind of like you. And like you, I'll heal. It's just not a rapid process.” A sly smile gave her a glimpse into the keen brain hidden under his too-long hair and deceptively mellow exterior. “Besides, in some ways, my troubles work in my favor. The people around here like me. As much as the county board would like to get rid of me, they haven't wanted to look bad by firing a man who survived a major tragedy.”

Baba opened her mouth to ask and then shut it again when he shook his head.

“Don't worry about it.” A shadow flitted over his face, like a cloud blowing across the full moon. “I doubt you'll be around long enough for it to matter.”

She couldn't argue with that; he was almost certainly right. Babas didn't stay.

“I'll talk to Bob in the morning,” he added. “I can call you to let you know when he thinks the bike will be ready.”

“I don't have a phone.”

“You don't have a phone,” Liam repeated in a disbelieving tone. “Then how the hell do people get in touch with you?”

Baba shrugged. “Usually they just show up at the front door.”

“That's ridiculous,” he said.

“Really?” She raised one eyebrow. “You did.”

Before he left, Liam turned around and gave her a hard look that sent a little shiver down her spine. She chose to blame it on the cool night air instead of the chill in his eyes.

“Remember what I said about staying away from Peter Callahan and his assistant. I don't care what you suspect them of—I am the law here and you are a professor who is very far away from home. Make no mistake; I like you, but that won't keep me from tossing your ass into jail if I have to.” He turned his back on her and left, slamming the door behind him to emphasize his point.

Baba scowled at the place where he'd been, and fingered the perfectly applied bandage on her elbow. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered to take care of her—she couldn't tell if she liked it or not. She felt oddly off-balance, as if the gravity in the room was no longer what she was used to. The air tasted strange, like strawberries and spring.
He said he liked her.

“I had a thought,” she said slowly to Chudo-Yudo.

“Gods help us,” he growled. “The last time that happened, we had to replace all the furnishings.”

“That fire was not my fault,” Baba said crossly. “And not that kind of thought.” She sank down on the couch, feeling every bruise and scrape complain in an unmusical chorus. Now that Liam was gone, she could get herself a tiny glass of the Water of Life and Death. That would speed up her healing and kill the pain at the same time.

“It just occurred to me that right now, Maya and whoever she is working with think Liam is nothing more than an annoyance. What do you suppose will happen if he starts digging deeper into their business and actually finds something that could hurt them?”

Chudo-Yudo hopped up on the sofa next to her, making it creak in protest. He lay his blunt head on top of a red-and-purple tapestry pillow and sighed. “In that case,” he said in a mournful tone, “I suspect he dies.”