Wickedly Dangerous (7 page)

“Considering I've got nothing,” Liam admitted with chagrin, “that still puts you at an advantage over me.”

Baba muttered something that sounded distinctly like, “You have no idea,” then added more to the point, “I think it was the woman who works for Peter Callahan. Belinda said her name is Maya something and that she got here right before children started disappearing.”

Liam was so started by this pronouncement, he muffed the shot, sending the ball skidding into one of Baba's and nudging it into a better alignment for her next turn. Profanity made it as far as the inside of his lips and hung there, largely unspoken.

Baba stalked around the table, eying all the possible angles. Liam just eyed her.

“What makes you think Maya Freeman has anything to do with this?” he asked. “She may have shown up around the right time, but I've looked into her background and everything checks out.”

One solid-colored ball zoomed past him into a corner pocket, rapidly followed by another two in a blur of rainbow colors. “Appearances can be deceiving,” Baba said coolly. “And that woman is not what—who—she appears to be. All I can tell you is that I saw her do something suspicious at the meeting. Maybe it had nothing to do with the ensuing upheaval, but I wouldn't want to bet your town's safety on that, would you?” The eight ball followed all its fellows in as if to punctuate her statement.

Liam sighed, as much in anticipation of more futile phone calls as at the loss of the game. “I'll delve a little deeper, see if I can turn anything up.” He started racking the balls again, trying not to be distracted by his opponent's amber gaze. “I have to admit, there is something about the woman that makes the back of my neck itch.”

Baba's shoulders relaxed microscopically as she realized he wasn't dismissing her suggestion out of hand, and he didn't have the heart to tell her he still found her a heck of a lot more suspicious than Peter Callahan's fancy assistant.

“That's two days you owe me now,” she said in a satisfied tone. “Are you sure you don't want to quit while you're ahead?” A tiny smile played at the corner of her full lips.

He shook his head and leaned into the break, pushing his frustration into the forward movement of the stick. A yellow ball raced across the green surface, hung for a moment on the edge of oblivion, and then fell over with a swish. Liam grinned at Baba as he knocked a second solid ball in right after it.

“No thanks, I'm good,” he said. “And you owe me two more answers.”

LIAM PONDERED HIS
next two questions, not wanting to waste either one—since there was a distinct possibility he wouldn't get another chance. The woman played pool like she did everything else, with an almost scary competence and cool grace.

Baba's sly half smile didn't help his concentration any. He didn't understand what it was about her that shook his usual self-possession. Yes, she was beautiful—in the same way a bolt of lightning is beautiful when it shatters the night sky, or a lioness is beautiful as it races across the veldt. This was not a safe or gentle woman, no damsel in distress in need of rescuing. Any knight in shining armor who dared such a thing would probably find himself picking bits of his own sword out of his teeth.

Not that he was any kind of knight. Or interested in having any woman in his life, much less this prickly, mystifying, cloud-haired stranger with her secrets and her lies. That all ended long ago, when the world fell out from underneath him, changing in an instant from a place of warmth and joy to a dark and cruel mockery, empty and cold.

He'd tried to stay strong for Melissa, because that is what you do when you love someone. But she couldn't be strong for him. Or even for herself, more's the pity. And then she was gone, swallowed up in an ocean of secrets and lies, and he vowed never again. Never again. And meant it.

As much as he missed sex, nothing was worth putting himself through that kind of pain and betrayal again. And being a sheriff in a small town meant he couldn't exactly get away with temporary, meaningless liaisons, even if that were his style, which it wasn't.

So why did his fingers itch to run themselves through the silken length of that dark hair every time he saw it? Why did he catch himself staring at her lips, her eyes, the sway of her hips? It's like that feeling you get when you stand at the top edge of a tall, tall building . . . that momentary urge to step into the abyss, and see what it would be like to fall, and keep on falling. And to hell with the crash that would hit you at the bottom.

“Sheriff?” An amused-sounding voice cut into his reverie.

God, he had to get more sleep.

“Right. First question,” he said after a brief pause. “Have you lied to me?” Liam felt as though the world was holding its breath as he waited for the answer; although why he thought she would tell him the truth now if she hadn't before, he wasn't sure. Even so, for whatever reason, he believed she would stick to their bargain.

Baba gazed at him steadily, amber eyes clear and guileless. “Not nearly as much as you think I have, and not about anything important.”

A weedy teenager approached the table with a quarter in his outstretched hand, ready to put it in the slot that would reserve the next game for him. A frown and a minute shake of the head from Liam sent him scuttling toward one of the other tables. Liam turned the look on Baba, who wasn't nearly as easy to intimidate, unfortunately. Apparently that was all the answer he was going to get from her on that subject.

Fine.

He walked around the table, ostensibly gauging his next shot, and ended up standing close enough to feel the heat of her skin. The room held six tables, and maybe twenty people, but for a moment, it seemed as though they were alone, held in isolation by a bubble of reality in which only the two of them existed.

His voice was low and serious. “Second question: what are you
really
doing in this area?”

She took a long swallow of beer before saying in a matterof-fact tone, “I came because Mariska Ivanov called me for help in finding her granddaughter.” A tiny smile flickered on and off like a lightbulb in an electrical storm. “But there
are
some very interesting plants growing in Clearwater County, so I didn't lie when I said that was why I was here. I just didn't tell you the entire truth.”

Huh.
Liam rocked back on his heels; whatever he'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. “I didn't realize you knew the Ivanovs,” he said, trying to figure out if he believed this any more than he did her previous story.

“I don't,” Baba said in a calm tone. “But I like Belinda, and I want to help.”

Liam was confused. “Are you some kind of private detective?”

“Not at all,” she said, gesturing at the table and the cue he was holding. “I'm a professor and an herbalist. Were you going to take another shot anytime soon?”

He drew in a deep breath through his nose, trying to curb the impulse to strangle her with her own flowing locks.
Odd, mysterious, and infuriating
. The woman was going to drive him insane. Even when she was telling the truth, he couldn't get a straight answer out of her.

He bent over the table, and said without looking at her, “You need to stay out of police business,
Professor
Yager. Stick to your herbs. I'll take care of Belinda and her family.”

“Really?” Baba drew out the word in a voice that lowered the temperature of the room about twenty degrees. “Because it seems to me that you can use all the help you can get. Since, as you yourself said, you have
nothing
.” The last word was squeezed through gritted teeth, and the sharp edges of it caused his fingers to slip on the cue, sending the cue ball bouncing uselessly off empty air.

Baba stared at him for a moment and then took her shot—and all the ones that came after, dropping striped balls into the pockets with the precision of a surgeon.

“Three days,” she said, emptying her beer bottle and setting it down on the side wall ledge with a decisive click. “Had enough yet?”

Liam shook his head and plucked the white plastic triangle off its hook, arranging the balls in silence. He fought back fury at her implication that he couldn't protect his own people. More because it felt true at the moment than because it wasn't. Around them, laughter and petty quarrels echoed from the other tables where people played for fun and not in a battle for . . . whatever it was they were battling for. He wasn't sure either of them knew.

A bright green ball slid into dingy white netting. Dozens of questions vied to be next, but what came out of his mouth was, “Are you married?” He could feel the tips of his ears burn. For once he was thankful he still hadn't had time to get his hair trimmed.

Baba's eyes widened in surprise. That was some consolation.

“I mean, do you have a significant other? You know, someone I should contact in case you get into trouble with the law?” Something he was almost completely certain would happen sooner or later.

She opened her mouth to answer, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the sound of roaring as a bevy of motorcycles glided by the window, shaking the brick walls so hard, Baba's empty bottle fell over and rolled onto the floor.

Over by the back door, kept propped open for air and so the smokers could run outside for a quick puff between games, a waitress named Ellie peeked her head out cautiously and withdrew it, looking for all the world like a startled turtle.

“Oh my god!” she squeaked, almost dropping the tray of glasses she carried. “We've been invaded by a motorcycle gang!”

Liam walked over and looked out the door himself, Baba and most of the others in the room peering over his shoulder. He saw three bikes gleaming in the light from the solitary street lamp: a luminous white Yamaha, a hulking black Harley, and between them, looking like a thoroughbred between a show pony and a Clydesdale, a low-slung red Ducati. There was no sign of their riders, who had undoubtedly walked around to enter through the front of the bar.

Liam rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh. “Three motorcycles is hardly a ‘gang,' Ellie,” he said. “There are more bikes than that parked in the front lot; I'm pretty sure I saw the Kirk brothers come in on theirs, and plenty of folks around here ride.” He gave the crowd his professional “move along, nothing to see here” smile.

Ellie scowled at him, her thirtysomething face already looking middle-aged after a decade of dealing with rowdy drunks and too many late nights.

“I've never seen those motorcycles before, Sheriff. And three may not be a gang, but it sure as hell can be trouble.” She sniffed, empty bottles and abandoned glasses clinking together on her tray as she slammed them down on her way out of the room.

“I guess I'd better go see what the cat dragged in,” Liam said, leaning his cue against the wall in resignation. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Baba trailed out behind him, the beginnings of a smile starting to form on her lips. “I'll come with you. I have a feeling I know who your visitors are.” At his questioning look, the smile grew a fraction wider, but she didn't say anything else.

They got into the main room just in time to see three men enter the bar and take a few steps inside, looking around as if searching for someone. The first man was tall, slim, and elegant in the slightly too-handsome manner of a movie star or a Tolkien elf. He wore his blond hair long and loose, touching his broad shoulders, and his white jeans and white linen shirt were so spotless, they shone like the sun on water. Women all around the room suddenly found a reason to touch up their lipstick.

The man next to him was shorter, with long black hair pulled back in a tail, and the dark slanted eyes, flat cheekbones, and Fu Manchu mustache of the Mongolian desert. He moved with the loose gait of a man who knows many martial arts and has mastered them all, and the red leather jumpsuit he wore fit him like a second skin.

Their companion made them both look almost ordinary; a massive giant of a man with coarse brown hair and a braided beard, wearing a black leather jacket that jangled with silver chains, worn black jeans, and dusty boots that Liam could have fit both of his feet into with room left over to spare.

They all looked attractive, confident . . . and dangerous. Liam could feel his muscles tighten in response, like an alpha dog whose territory has suddenly been invaded. When they crossed the room to stand in front of Baba, it was all he could do not to growl.

The blond man swept down in a graceful bow. “Baba Yaga, how lovely to see you. You are looking as glorious as always.” The Asian man snorted, but both he and the walking mountain standing next to him inclined their heads briefly.

“Yager,” Baba corrected. “Barbara Yager. No nicknames here.” But Liam was disconcerted to see her wearing the first broad smile he'd ever seen on her face. “You are very prompt. I wasn't expecting you for a few days. Tomorrow at the earliest.”

The big man grimaced. “We were sitting around with nothing to do in Kansas City. Believe me, we were happy for a reason to leave.” Unlike Baba, he spoke with a very strong accent.
Were
sounded like
vere
. Liam suddenly felt like an extra in the movie
The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming
. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the room was so loud, the three could have been speaking in pig Latin and no one would have heard it.

Liam cleared his throat. “Friends of yours?” he asked.

“More like employees. They work for me, on and off.” Baba patted the blond man on one shoulder, and Liam spotted what looked like a tattoo of a white dragon curled around his collarbone with its face peeking slyly from underneath the elegant linen shirt.

He raised one eyebrow. “Really? And what does an herbalist college professor need with a three-man private army? What do they do for you, go into the woods and pick pretty flowers?”

The huge man scowled and bared his teeth, but Baba just laughed. “If I ask them to.” She waved one languid hand from left to right, blond to black to brown.

“Meet my Bright Dawn, my Red Sun, and my Dark Midnight. This handsome fellow is Mikhail Day.” The blond man bowed to Liam, who only narrowly restrained himself from bowing back, and no doubt looking like a fool in the process.

“Gregori Sun,” she said, and the Asian man put his palms together over his heart and tilted his head. “And this large person is Alexei Knight.” The big man, who must have been at least six foot eight, and as wide as the other two put together, just stared at Liam, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to calculate the force it would require to snap the smaller man in half.

Baba either didn't notice his attitude, or didn't care. “Boys,” she said, “meet Sheriff Liam McClellan. He's the law here, and a good man. Try not to piss him off.”

Liam was torn between ridiculous pleasure at being named a “good man” and irritation at what were clearly more secrets and lies from Baba. Whose last name might or might not be Yager.

The balance slid heavily in the direction of displeasure when she added, “Sorry about our game, Sheriff. We'll have to play again some other time,” then walked off without a backward glance. She hummed as she went, and the few folks who had been staring at them suddenly seemed to lose all interest in the visitors, turning back to their beers and their conversations.

As the odd quartet made their way across the bar and out the front door, Liam realized two things that made his already dismal mood turn dark and stormy: inexplicably, he was actually feeling a little bit jealous. And Baba had never answered his last question.

*   *   *

BABA SCRATCHED CHUDO-YUDO
idly behind the ears as she explained the situation to the White Rider, the Red Rider, and the Black Rider. Pledged to the service of the Baba Yagas, even Baba herself didn't know exactly what kind of creatures they were behind their human masks. All she knew for certain was that they were immortal, powerful, and on her side. At the moment, that was more than enough.

“So,” Mikhail drawled, leaning forward to look at the laptop on the table in front of them. He and Gregori were tucked into the banquette seats with Baba. Alexei, whose bulk would never have fit in the limited space, had propped himself against the counter across the way. Baba thought she heard the trailer groan slightly as it adjusted to his weight.