by Brynna Curry
“Anniversary,” Jack mumbled, then tossed the rest of the pins until her hair was wild and tousled. “I like it this way.”
She mocked a pout at him. “Of course you do, but you’re a man. So what do you know, anyway?”
His grin was lightning quick. “Plenty.” They were both smiling when he picked her up and playfully tossed her on their bed.
Jack stood in their room, his room, while tears streamed down his face. It hurt so much to remember what they’d shared. Still, it hurt more not to remember. Sometimes he wished that had been his last image of her, but he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if he hadn’t been with her when she died.
He kept her things as she had left them. Her clothes still hung with his in the closet. Bottles of perfume and various other cosmetics still sat on top of the vanity. He hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it. It made the room smell like her when he opened the spritzer of scent. How could he think of being with someone new when he was so haunted by one he could never have again?
He toed off his shoes, set the bedside clock, and stretched out on the bed. He’d lie here just a few minutes, and then go into his office to work. Five minutes later, he was sound asleep. For once, his dreams were his own and were of nothing, nothing but Olivia.
* * * *
It was ten-thirty in Paris when the bedside phone rang. Devin answered swearing vehemently in heavily accented French.
“I would rather you refrain from subjecting me to such foul obscenities. I have work for you, Christophe LeFleur, but I can find someone else if you’d rather go back to your nap.”
Switching to English he tried to sound chastised. “Gueraldi, I do apologize. Speaking of work, I had a late night, or you wouldn’t have found me so surly at this hour. What can I do for you?”
“I need a diamond for a certain client. The one I have in mind won’t be easy to, let’s say, retrieve. I require your special talent for this little shopping trip.”
“Which one would that be?” Devin knew the one he meant, but it was understood for him to ask. He thought of the stone that had been stolen, bought and sold. It had passed several hands several times, from the Pitt gentleman who originally procured the gem to finally rest in the hilt of Napoleon’s sword.
“I want the Regent. You have two weeks in which to obtain the stone.”
“Only two? The stone will have to be copied, convincingly, security must be dealt with and no one can be the wiser. It’s not much time.”
“It’s all you have, so chose your team wisely. The necessary funds will be available to you, but two weeks is what you have. No more or less, and I don’t tolerate inferior employees. If you can’t do it, say so now.”
“Oh, I can. You’ll have your diamond, Gueraldi.” If I can do it? Please, I can do much better than that. He could have it in Gueraldi’s hands before the hour was up without a penny invested, but that was for him to know.
“Deliver it to me, personally. You make the switch and bring it to me. Your fee will be the usual. Do you accept?”
“Yes.”
“Consider yourself under contract, Christophe LeFleur, and if you fail, consider the same.”
Christophe Le Fleur was renowned in his field of work. His many bank accounts, Swiss and otherwise, were proof of that. He was paid to do what came effortlessly and paid well. He had a talent for larceny and the bloodline for magic. Christophe was just a facade—one of many—that Devin created to make his extended existence easier. It had taken him only a day or two to gather his team, which wasn’t really necessary, less than that to study security, building plans, and inform his team. It would be his biggest heist yet. Though he could have been in and out of the Louvre in a blink by himself, he enjoyed the skill it took a mortal man to accomplish the same task. He glanced at the dainty clock on the bedside table. 3:30 AM. By this time tomorrow he would hold the Regent in his hands. Its paste copy rested in the briefcase on the little breakfast table of his hotel suite. He shared a private joke with himself. It wasn’t really a paste copy, but a real diamond identical to the regent, and there were two of them. One would be for replacing the museum’s stone, and the other was for Gueraldi. Had he cared to, he could have conjured a dozen more of equal value and passed them around like candy. No one but himself could have seen the difference, for the only one was the energy each held. The copies were blank of emotion, and the regent would be full of the history it had collected.
He hadn’t owned a home in years. It was safer to move around, and his true home would always be a place he couldn’t go back to. This particular penthouse suite was elegantly decorated and exquisitely furnished in antiques. He’d lived in more hotels and houses than he cared to count or remember. He longed for home.
He carried the glass of wine he had allowed himself with him into the adjoining bath. Turning the shower on, he stepped under the hot spray, hoping to release the tension in his muscles. He hated flying, but it wasn’t like he could just pop out of thin air in this day and time, so he was forced to resort to manmade wings as opposed to his magic. His was an ancient magic, pure and simple. He could conjure anything out of nothing, and impossibilities were barely worth his time. ‘Christophe’ was Devin Medlock, and that was only one of the names he’d used over the years.
Centuries and some years had passed since he’d come into this world. Born in the highlands of Scotland, son of the laird of the clan McLoch, he was royal through his blood, could have ruled, loved, and died a man of power, but instead he was trapped. He was trapped in life by his own blood, barred from his birth land, without cause, by magic. A sneer jumped to his mouth when he thought about the circumstances.
Daemon, his elder cousin and once friend, had let heart and magic rule him. Devin had known the moment the evil was summoned, seen it in his mind, just as the woman had. The woman falling into dust seconds only after Daemon had turned into water and was carried to the sea. Another woman, sister to his cousin’s wife, trapped in the wind, in an ancient circle of power, waiting for love to set her free. A love she’d neither accept nor welcome unless it suited her own plans, a love that didn’t exist for her, even if she would have been able to accept him. He had watched her over the years. Though destiny had decided she would be for him, he had developed no more than mild amusement toward her. “What a joke. That one wouldn’t learn her lesson if Fate had given her another thousand years.”
Why had he been chosen? He was just as selfish, just as ruthless as she. He knew it and wasn’t ashamed and maybe just a little bit arrogant about it. The cycle would soon begin, until then he had to wait to finish his part, and the woman would have to wait as well. It gave him a perverse sort of pleasure to know it. He shut off the water and took a towel from the warming bar, wrapped it around him, and then as soon as he had put it on he took it off. Still mostly wet, he climbed between the sheets and snuggled up to Nicolette, his electronics specialist. Her honey blond hair flared out over the pillows. Yep, selfish and ruthless, and being so, Devin nudged her awake. He might be trapped, but there were advantages to being such. He intended to enjoy every one of them, before the axe of destiny came down on his head and he found himself chained to Arianne Farrell for the next thousand years.
Chapter 7
Olivia opened her eyes to a beautiful summer morning. Sunshine spilled through the filmy curtains and caused her to rub the sleep away. It was Monday, and she hadn’t heard from Jack since Saturday night, when they’d said goodbye at her door. Still, she didn’t take it personally, or pause to wonder if he had lost interest in her company. She had either been closeted in her room, chained to her computer, or spending time with Ryan.
She had been inspired after those few short hours with him. When she came inside the house, she barely gave Ryan a cursory greeting, and didn’t even bother to nettle him about waiting up for her. She’d streaked up the stairs and flung open the door to her bedroom. In her haste to write, Liv carelessly tossed the sparkly blue dress over her head, where it slinked sil
ently onto the floor. An oversized t-shirt took its place.
Trading the heels and stockings for fuzzy bunny slippers, Liv sighed as her toes sang a hallelujah chorus. She couldn’t wait any longer or she’d lose the muse. Sitting at the computer, she worked until she fell asleep sitting at the desk. What Jack had done to spur that driving work, she couldn’t have said.
Then she’d gone right back to work when she woke, never missing a beat of her story as it poured out of her and onto the screen. Sometime around two in the morning she’d lost it, and went downstairs to forage. Chocolate crullers being the only thing she found in the fridge that looked safe or appealing, she ate two with a soda, vowed to eat a healthy breakfast in the morning, and had gone up back to bed.
Now she was sitting up in that bed, wondering what to do with the day. Ryan would surely be at work already, though the sun wasn’t high enough for it to be very late. She went into the bath and started the shower, and heard the phone ring. Didn’t it always? Sighing, figuring Ryan had forgotten something at home, she went back to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Jack. I wondered if you had any plans this afternoon.”
Jack. What time was it? She took another peek out the window. “Hi stranger, I don’t know. What time is it?”
Jack smiled into the rear view mirror. “One. How about a picnic at the park?”
“I’d like that. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen the outside. I’ve been working. What time did you want to leave?”
“Already gone. I’ll be there in about ten minutes, but I don’t mind waiting for you.”
Had she forgotten he was so arrogant? At least she was used to arrogance. Credit that to Skye, small blessings. “No need to wait, I’ll be ready. Just don’t expect your Miss America.”
“See you.”
The line clicked, and she dove into the shower.
True to her word she was ready in ten minutes, waiting in the kitchen, with a cup of coffee. She watched him pull up in the drive, poured the drink in the sink, and went out to meet him. She was just locking the door when he got out of the car.
* * * *
Jack’s heart stuttered. Had he thought she was beautiful the other night? Words didn’t seem to fit what he thought now. She wore a pair of red cotton shorts that showed miles of long graceful legs. They contrasted with a bright blue sleeveless top she wore in acquiescence to the weather. Her long hair had been tamed into a fluffy ponytail, while dark tortoiseshell sunglasses graced her face and hid her eyes from view. She had left that face naked, her mouth unpainted. Did she know how tempting it was? Had she done it on purpose? He couldn’t speak, could only stay rooted to the spot he stood in, until she spoke and broke the vision.
“Good day to you, Jack. I hope you’ve packed a big basket, as I’ve been closeted in my room since we last saw one another. You’ve interrupted my plans for breakfast and I’m fair to starving.” She acted as if she’d known him all her life. It made him throw back his head and laugh into the wind.
“Why?”
She flashed him a sunny smile. “You inspired me, and my work wouldn’t let me go.”
“Should I apologize?”
She bounced down the steps to join him. He had to touch her, couldn’t help himself, but he took the better part of valor and only twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.
“No, but maybe I should thank you, as it had been giving me a fair bit of trouble.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m glad I could help. I thought you might have given up on me. I’ve been working too.” He’d come out of his zombie writing state this morning and she had been the foremost thought in his mind.
They drove to the park, making conversation about anything and nothing at all. He chose a grassy spot by the fountain where they were shaded but could still hear the water run.
“Jack, did you cook all of this?”
He hadn’t wanted to give her food poisoning. “No, I got it from the deli. It’s safe.” He found it amazing that he had wanted to go out of his way for her, when he hadn’t wanted to leave his house for the simplest thing only days before. Olivia changed something in him. He was happier than he’d been in a long time. For the first time since Sissy had died, he felt like he had a reason to live. Jack smiled to himself. He knew it sounded sappy but it was how he felt when he was with her. He hadn’t even known her but a handful of days.
It was coming up on six o’clock when they pulled up into Ryan’s driveway.
Jack killed the engine. “This was fun, Liv. I guess I sort of shanghaied you into it.”
“I had a good time. Nothing I like better than a picnic by the water, such as it was.” He walked her to the door. She brushed a kiss over his cheek. “Call me again, stranger?”
“Sure.” Jack started back down the steps, turned, and jogged back up them. “Want to catch a late show with me tonight?” At first he had been wary of her company. Now he couldn’t seem to get enough of it.
“Okay.”
“Eight.” Jack gunned the engine and pulled out of the drive.
* * * *
The theater was dark except for the tiny floor lights used to light the aisles. They took their seats in the very back, with a huge bucket of popcorn between them, while the previews played across the big screen. “I hope you don’t mind sitting all the way back here.”
“Nah, this is fine.” As long as he could keep his hands in the popcorn and his mind on the show, he silently added.
“I like to watch other people’s reactions.”
He liked it for completely different reasons, but kept that piece of information to himself. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, after all.
The movie—a psychological thriller rather than a monster flick—began on screen. Liv curled her fingers around the arms of the theater seat and waited, breath held, for the heroine’s next encounter with the maniac. Jack uncurled her fingers and twined them with his own. It was as automatic as breathing, this need to soothe nerves. She jolted, then seemed to ease a little. The simple gesture was romantic and innocent yet at the same time very intimate. What would it be like to have her twined around him?
Jack walked hand in hand with Liv through a throng of teenagers. Housed in an outdoor mall between a law office and hair salon, the theatre was in the heart of town. He pulled her into the alcove doorway of the law office. The full moon shone brightly overhead, and summer breeze that had been stifling earlier was now comforting and warm. Turning her, he pressed her back against the wall. He heard a young girl giggle as she walked by.
“Liv?” Jack brushed a kiss across the knuckles of the hand he held. “I wish you could put off your trip home for a while. I want more time with you. What am I saying? I don’t have any right to even ask you that. But I am asking.”
“Life’s too short to worry about the little things. I never expected to find you. I didn’t realize I was searching. Home will be waiting when I get back. I can trust Skye to look after things for me.”
A weight he hadn’t known he’d carried was suddenly lifted off his shoulders. “That’s good.” He brushed the lightest of kisses over her wrists, drugging himself with the beating of her pulse. He thrilled as he felt his effect on her under his lips.
“Jack?” she questioned, but her mouth was already tilting up to meet his. Eyes were fluttering closed.
He lightly touched his lips to hers, barely even a whisper, but the earth seemed to tilt and fall out from under his feet. He couldn’t hear anything but the beating of his own heart and his own ragged breathing as he crushed her to him. He plundered her mouth, taking all she offered, demanding more than he could give, drowning in the taste even as he cursed himself for doing so.
* * * *
High on the roof of the restaurant across from the library, Shadow’s finger rested heavy on the trigger of his AK-47. From his rather interesting viewpoint he could see the Corrigan woman had taken the writer for a lover, tacky little slut. It paid to research your targets and their associates. It
figured. Oceans draw rivers. Thinking back to the conversation with Gueraldi, he wondered why he’d taken the job.
“Shadow, I wish I could say it was pleasant, but our business is anything but. Make sure to do it in a public place. I want it to look random, but I’m sure Corrigan will still get the message.”
Shadow, as most who had acquired his services knew him, was a marksman for hire. “No kill shots?” he asked.
“No, try to exercise some amount of control, but make it bloody,” Gueraldi rasped into the phone. “Otherwise…”
He’d make sure of it. He was under contract after all, but she’d still suffer plenty. He craved the sound of bullets ripping into flesh and the agony of screams that followed, but either way he’d get paid. “Consider it already done. My usual fee?”
“Will be transferred upon completion.”
The line went dead.
Shadow had been following the woman for him since the day she touched down on American soil. He’d watched as she and the man got into the old vintage car outside her brother’s house. He let them get a couple lengths ahead, then followed.
Now here he was, rifle sighted, perched alert like a damn squirrel. He might have been uncomfortable, but he was already lost in the hunt. Predator scented prey. He craved blood, waited to taste the kill. Disgraceful, he complained silently, climbing all over him in public, a man she’d only met a few days ago. He just needed a clear shot. It was all he was waiting for. He could have killed the writer first, but he didn’t work for free. The writer had his back turned to him, blocking his view of the woman. Then his good luck came through. They broke apart. He checked and reloaded the clip. Sighted and took the shot.
* * * *
Jack’s head reeled when he stepped back to look at her. It was different, something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “My God, Liv, what the hell was that?” Her eyes were still shuttered, her face flushed. She didn’t answer. She probably hadn’t regained a working brain cell to come up with one yet; he barely had. He decided to kiss her again and answer his own question. Something clicked. Something inside him he thought he’d buried.