by Lyn Horner
He held out his hand to her. “Medina, Dev Medina, ma’am. And what might your –”
An intrusive noise tore Dev away from the sunny beach. He rolled instinctively from his stomach onto his back, groaning when his left shoulder struck the mattress. Despite the pain, he wondered groggily where she’s gone, the golden goddess whose name he hadn’t had time to ask.
The annoying sound came again, jarring him fully awake. Recognizing the two-tone ring of his doorbell, he muttered a curse, tossed the bed sheet aside and sat up, gritting his teeth as the movement stretched tender, healing skin. The clock on his nightstand read 1:34 a.m. Who the devil would come calling at this time of night?
He dragged on a pair of Levis he’d dropped on the floor before hitting the sack. Not bothering with a shirt or shoes, he stepped into the hall and flipped on a light just as the doorbell rang a third time.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he growled, heading downstairs to the first floor of his two-story condo. The ceramic tiles in his front entry chilled his feet as he crossed to the door. Turning on the outside light, he leaned close and peered through the peephole. He clenched his jaw at the sight of Conn O’Shea standing there with a woman leaning against him. The jagged red scar running down her right cheek roused a bubble of sympathy in Dev’s chest, but he instantly squashed it. Fury lashing him, he unlocked the door and threw it open.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, gripping the edge of the door jamb so tight that the wood dug into his hand.
“We need your help,” his boss and former best friend had the gall to say.
Dev laughed bitterly. “Oh yeah? And what makes you think I’ll help you? After what you did –”
“I’m not asking for myself, I’m asking for my friend here.” Conn nodded toward the woman who clung to him for support, with her weight on one foot and the other held awkwardly to the side. “She’s in danger.”
Swallowing the enraged words he’d been about to utter, Dev eyed the woman more closely. Pale face drawn in exhaustion, she stared back at him with strange golden eyes. “What kind of danger?”
“I can’t tell you out here and she needs to sit. Will you let us in?”
“No! You’ve got a lot of damn nerve! Take your girlfriend to your own place.”
“I can’t. It’s not safe. She’s being hunted, and the hunters know I’m with her. You’ve got to help us, man. You’re the only one who can.”
Dev ground his teeth, but taking pity on the woman, he relented. “All right, but this had better be good.” He stepped back and motioned them in.
Intimidated by Dev Medina’s churlish attitude and brawny, half naked form, Lara clung to Conn as he waved off the cab driver he’d paid extra to wait in case they needed him. Then he walked her into the condo, one arm firmly around her. Turning right into the masculine, spartanly furnished living room, he seated her on a brown leather couch and deposited their two small bags on the floor by her feet. Leaning back, she gave a tired sigh while he turned to face their host, who stood watching them from the room’s entrance, a scowl creasing his broad features. His dusky tan coloring hinted at Latino or Native American blood, at odds with his dark blond hair and whisker stubble. A pair of glaring blue eyes amplified the unusual mix.
“Do you have any whiskey?” Conn asked. “Lara – Miss Spenser – could use a drink.”
Lara frowned. She didn’t care for whiskey or any other hard liquor, and she didn’t like him speaking for her. However, she stifled any protest, not wishing to add to the tense atmosphere. Medina hesitated, looking as if he couldn’t decide whether to grant Conn’s request or tell them both to get the hell out. Then he crossed the room to a small bar in the far corner. When he turned to reach for a bottle of spirits, Lara caught her breath and stared at his bare back. The left side from the top of his shoulder down almost to his waist was a patchwork of scabbed and brownish pink skin. He’d obviously been badly burned.
Realizing this must be the injury Medina blamed on Conn, she shot him a dismayed glance and found him watching her, gauging her reaction to the sight. She swallowed hard, sickened by the possibility that he might have somehow caused his friend’s dreadful burn. Perhaps sensing the path of her thoughts, he frowned and looked away.
Lara heard Medina splash whiskey into a glass and shifted her gaze back to him. He caught her staring when he turned around. Narrowing his eyes, he smiled grimly as he brought the drink over to her.
“My back’s not a pretty picture, is it?” he asked rhetorically, handing her the squat tumbler. “I guess O’Shea didn’t tell you how I ended up like this, did he?” He sent a sneering glance at Conn, who met it with a silent frown.
Lara spoke in his defense. “No, but he did say you would have been killed if he’d let you try to cap the fire the way you wanted to do.”
“That’s bull!” Medina shouted, glaring fiercely at Conn. “I could have got it done before the second gas line exploded.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I wasn’t willing to risk your life and the lives of the entire crew to find out.”
“Yeah? And because you wouldn’t give the go-ahead, I spent three weeks in a burn unit and Ray Douglas is dead.”
Lara gasped and looked to Conn in shock. He hadn’t told her a man had been killed in the mishap – too weak a word – that injured Medina. The frown lines framing his mouth deepened and he paled beneath his tan.
“If you’d pulled back when I ordered you to,” he said tightly, “you wouldn’t have gotten hurt and Ray would be alive.”
“You bastard! You still won’t admit the great Connor O’Shea made a mistake.” With a feral growl, Medina charged, landing a punishing right fist on Conn’s jaw that sent him stumbling backward against the fireplace mantle.
“No! Don’t do this!” Lara screamed.
Ignoring her, Medina buried his fist in Conn’s solar plexus, driving a loud gust of air from his lungs and doubling him over. Hands pressed to his belly, he straightened slowly and stared at his angry attacker with pained-glazed eyes, making no attempt to defend himself.
“Fight me, dammit!” Medina snarled.
“No,” Conn rasped, struggling for breath. “Hit me … again. I won’t … stop you.”
For a moment, Lara thought Medina would go on pummeling Conn, but then he swung around, strode back to the bar and leaned heavily upon it, head down and breathing hard, as if he’d finished a long run. Seeing Conn gingerly feel around his ribs and work his jaw, she wanted to go to him, but her bad leg prevented her from standing.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Moving with care, he slowly lowered himself onto the couch beside her. She heard him grind his teeth, fighting not to groan, she guessed. He pointed at the whiskey she held. “If you’re not gonna drink that, I will.”
She handed it to him and he gulped it down.
Medina turned to face them. “What exactly do you want from me?” he demanded.
“We don’t want anything from you,” Lara shot back. She’d had enough of him and this whole ugly scene. “Conn, let’s call a cab and go. As you said, Houston’s a big city. Surely we can stay at a hotel for a few days, can’t we?”
He shrugged. “We can, but then what? Dev’s the only one I know who might be able to break the code.”
Lara slumped in dejection. She had no idea how to solve that critical problem.
“You want me to break a code? That’s why you’re here?” Medina issued a derisive snort, but when Lara glanced at him, she detected a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
“Yeah, for Lara, not me,” Conn said, rubbing his jaw. “I thought you might want to keep busy until you can rejoin the crew, but I guess not.”
Medina eyed him for a moment then trained his gaze on Lara. “What kind of code? Are you some sort of spy, Miss Spenser?”
“No, I’m not a spy, Mr. Medina.”
He crossed his arms, accentuating his bulging biceps, and cocked a tawny eyebrow. “All right, I’m
listening. Talk.”
Lara looked at Conn and received a nod. Licking dry lips, she began, “First, we just flew in from Ireland, where Mr. O’Shea has been working as my bodyguard for the past few weeks.”
Medina darted a sharp glance at Conn. “He said you’re being hunted. By whom?”
“I don’t know their identity, only that they want to take something from me, and they’re not above killing to get it.”
“What are they after?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that,” she said, dropping her gaze to an earth-toned area rug laid out in front of the couch.
Medina gave a mocking laugh. “You want me to help you but don’t trust me? Are you into something illegal? Did you steal whatever your pursuers are after?”
She looked up in shock and adamantly shook her head. “No, it isn’t anything like that, and it’s not a matter of trust. I’m not allowed to tell anyone.” She turned to Conn for help.
“It’s true,” he confirmed. “She hasn’t told me what they’re after either. She swore to guard the … thing and keep it secret. You promised your uncle, right, Lara?”
“Y-yes.” That was a great oversimplification of the oath-taking ceremony she’d gone through before the entire Comhairle – the High Guardian’s council – when Uncle Malcolm chose her to be his successor.
“Fine, let that go. For now. What has all this got to do with breaking a code?”
Lara took a deep breath. “My Uncle Malcolm was killed several months ago, in the same accident that left me like this.” She touched her face and injured leg. “Recently, I received a package from his attorney. It contained a small book. Inside the book are six pages written in code. I believe they will reveal where to find my uncle’s associates. I need to inform them of my uncle’s death in order to carry out his last wishes.”
She’d been hesitant to tell him what she hoped to learn from the mysterious book, but Conn had convinced her that information might help his friend – his former friend – decode the scrambled text. Medina would eventually find out anyway, once he succeeded in breaking the code. If he agreed to try and if he succeeded.
“Why is their location such a big secret that it has to be written in code?” he questioned, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Lara licked her dry lips and gave a condensed version of what she’d told Conn. “They belong to a sort of secret society. Their purpose, and now mine, is to guard our inheritance, which the Hellhounds – the ones who are after me – want to take from us. For safety’s sake, the only one who knows how to contact them is their leader.”
“Who was your uncle,” Conn added.
“Yes.” She gave him a quick smile.
“And now it’s you.”
“Yes.”
“Supposing I decode the book for you,” Medina said, strolling to a matching leather chair placed caddy-corner to the couch, “and you send word to the others, then what?” He scrutinized her as he sat, being careful not to lean his injured back against the chair’s rear cushion.
“We will gather to honor Uncle Malcolm’s memory. Then they will recognize me as the h-head of our society.” She’d almost said High Guardian but caught herself in time. “And, I hope we will devise a way to defeat our enemies.”
Elbows planted on the padded chair arms, Medina twined his fingers loosely together and stared at the floor, brow creased in thought. Lara darted a questioning glance at Conn, but he merely shrugged. Finally, the former code breaker looked up.
“You’ve got me curious. Do you have the book with you now? Can I see it?”
Her heart leapt with hope. “Yes, of course. I have it right here.” She bent and dug in her bag. Coming up with the small book, she handed it to Medina. Minutes seemed like hours while he examined the pages of code. Barely able to sit still, Lara reached out to Conn, needing his reassuring touch. He wrapped his big hand around hers and she held on tight.
“This isn’t like any code I’ve seen,” Medina muttered. “It’ll take time to break.”
“D-does that mean you’ll do it?”
His blue eyes met hers. “Maybe. Can I hold on to this overnight?”
“I-I guess.”
“If you’ll put us up for the night,” Conn stipulated.
Medina shot him a hostile glare, muscles bunching along his clenched jaw. “One night, and only for her sake,” he ground out, cocking his head toward Lara.
“Sure.” Conn’s one-word answer sounded heavy with sadness.
“There’s a guest room to the left at the top of the stairs. The bed’s made up.”
A few moments later, Lara sat on the edge of a queen-size bed in the spacious bedroom. She pulled up her pant leg, preparing to remove her shoes and brace.
“I’ll do it,” Conn said, squatting before her, and she didn’t argue. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You don’t have to do that. The bed is big enough for two.” Although, she was unnerved by the thought of sharing it with him, she admitted.
“No, it’s not,” he said, gently easing off her long socks. Laying them aside, he smiled up at her. “If I get in bed with you, I can’t swear not to touch you, sweetheart, and I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
She wanted to deny it but couldn’t. He knew her too well. Biting her bottom lip, she glanced away. He caressed her scarred cheek and turned her face toward him.
“It’s all right. We both need sleep. I’ll make a pallet with this.” He patted the quilted bed cover, rose and gestured toward the adjoining bathroom. “Want me to help you in there? You can change while I get things ready.”
“I suppose,” she said unhappily. Here was a man who seemed to want her despite her infirmities, yet she was afraid to let him get too close. Remembering how he’d kissed her that day on Rossbeigh Beach and how she’d reacted, she could hardly deny being attracted to him, and it wasn’t as if she were a timid virgin. But could she trust him with her heart?
She hated thinking of the jerk who’d pretended to love her, only to betray her trust. He’d left her with a deep fear of giving her love to another. And now, with her scarred face and the possibility of being permanently crippled, she found it hard to believe any man could be attracted to her, even Conn. Unless it was the sheer novelty of her disfigurement that drew him. Was he simply looking for a roll in the sheets with an ugly freak, after which he’d turn his back on her? A sickening thought! She didn’t want to believe him capable of such a thing, but the distrustful, nagging voice in her head refused to be silent.
Alone in the big bed a short time later, listening to Conn’s even breathing, coming from the floor at the foot of the bed, Lara continued to question his true motives and her own fears. It was a long while before she fell asleep.
*
Down the hall, Dev lay awake on his stomach to minimize the pain from his burned back. With bitter resentment toward Conn O’Shea churning in his gut, he debated Lara Spenser’s request for help. The code book was tucked under his pillow. He’d looked it over again before returning to bed. Intrigued by the unusual code, he was tempted by the challenge it presented, but the scarred, still lovely Miss Spenser was Conn’s woman. His protectiveness and the way he’d looked at her made that plain to see. Aiding her would be aiding him. The thought rankled.
Struggling to find sleep, Dev sought a more pleasant subject to think about. Instantly, the golden goddess he’d dreamed of earlier came back to him. Who was she? Where was she? When would he meet her in the flesh? He had no doubt he would meet her. Dreams like the one he’d experienced tonight, so graphic in detail, always came true eventually.
This strange ability to glimpse the future, handed down through generations of his family, had haunted him most of his life. It could be a gift or a curse, depending on what he saw. In his role as an unofficial code breaker in the Army, it had shown him how to unravel codes used by terrorists and insurgents. Of course he’d never divulged the secret behind his success. If he had, the top brass
likely would have had him thrown in a padded cell.
Even Conn, his best friend back then – and afterward, until the disaster on the North Sea job – hadn’t known about the dreams, although he’d suspected something after the time Dev warned him of an enemy ambush on one of their missions. Saying he’d just gotten a bad feeling that they were walking into a trap hadn’t totally satisfied Conn, but Dev had stubbornly stuck to his story.
That was before he’d been tapped as a code breaker, after decoding a scrambled message taken off a dead Taliban fighter while on another mission. It was a simple code, requiring no dream visions to find the key, but his commanding officer had been impressed enough to make him their private code breaker. That had put a stop to most of his field missions, but he and Conn had still found time to hang out in between their assignments.
Shying away from memories of those days, when they’d been as close as brothers, he sighed tiredly and shifted onto his good side, thoughts returning to his dream goddess. He could still picture her in his mind’s eye, strolling toward him along the sunny beach like a vision come to life. He hoped she would walk into his life for real. Soon, very soon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Lara awoke, sunlight was streaming in the bedroom window and Conn was dressed and pulling on his boots.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a grin.
“Morning,” she mumbled, sitting up and rubbing sleep from her eyes. Lowering her hands, she found him staring at her chest. She looked down and saw the bed sheet and lightweight blanket had fallen into her lap. Her nightgown, the only one thin enough to stuff in her backpack, clearly showed the dark shape of her nipples. With a mortified gasp, she yanked the covers up to her throat.
Conn chuckled. “Ah, honey, you spoiled a pretty picture.”
Blushing hotly, she jabbed a finger at him. “You are a scoundrel, Conn O’Shea!”
“Naw, just a man who loves looking at a beautiful woman.” Giving a roguish wink, he tilted his head toward the bathroom. “You need to use the facilities?”