by Lyn Horner
She frowned. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh, no, but I need to speak to him, the doctor, I mean.”
Her lips quirked upward and she made a strangled sound, like suppressed laughter. “Oh, you do, do you?”
“Yeah, it’s urgent. Are you his wife?” He sure hoped not. “Can you give him a message for me?”
Her half-smile faded. “No, I am not his wife and I won’t take a message. If you really need to see the doctor, call the office on Monday and make an appointment.” She started to shut the door but Dev grabbed the edge of it and stopped her.
“I said this is urgent. It can’t wait ’til Monday.”
“Let go of the door!” she demanded, angry color flooding her cheeks.
“Un-uh. Is the doc here? Tell him I must speak to him. Now.”
She glared ice-cold daggers at him. “I am the doc!” she said through gritted teeth. “And I demand you let go of my door!”
Stunned, Dev nearly lost his hold. “You’re Dr. Michael Peterson?”
“No, you dunderhead! I’m Dr. Michaela Peterson. Now release this door and leave right now, or I will call the police.”
“Ah, hell!” Feeling like a damn fool, Dev sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I mean Dr. Peterson. I got the code wrong. I missed the ‘A’ at the end of your name.”
She stopped shoving at the door but continued to scowl at him. “Code? What code? What are you talking about?”
“The code Lara Spenser had me decipher. I’m here to deliver a message for her.”
The doc’s fine golden brows lifted. “I don’t know any Lara Spenser,” she said uncertainly.
Dev frowned, wondering if she was playacting because she didn’t trust him. Then it dawned on him that Spenser might be an alias Lara was using to conceal her true identity. “Maybe not, but you do know her uncle,” he replied. “Or you did. His name was Malcolm Flewellen.”
She sucked in her breath audibly. “Did you say was?”
“Yes ma’am. He was killed in a car accident several months ago.”
“Oh no!” Color drained from her face. Releasing the door, she staggered off balance and sagged against the entry wall.
“Hey, easy there!” Alarmed, Dev threw the door wide open, stepped inside and gripped her arms. “Don’t go fainting on me.
The woman named Bianca, who had backed away during their battle for the door, now rushed forward. “Doctor, you must sit! Señor, in there,” she directed, flapping her hand toward a room to the left.
Nodding, Dev wrapped an arm around Michaela and steered her into what turned out to be the living room. Steps dragging, she leaned against him, making him intensely aware of her womanly curves and the subtle flowery scent drifting from her hair. He led her to a wicker chair and eased her down onto the cushioned seat. Breathing fast and shallow, she collapsed against the chair’s high rounded back and closed her eyes.
Bianca eyed him warily. “You will not hurt her, yes?”
“No ma’am, I’m here to help her, I swear.”
Her dark eyes continued to study him. Then she nodded. “I will bring water,” she said and hurried off.
Dev crouched beside the chair and grasped his dream girl’s cold hands. She didn’t resist. Rebuking himself again for not properly decoding her name, he studied her face. Even pale with shock, her skin retained a light golden tint. Did she spend a lot of time sunning on the beach, he wondered, or was it her own natural color?
Bianca returned a moment later. She stepped to the doc’s other side and gently pressed a glass of water to her lips. “Drink, señora. It will help,” she coaxed.
After a few sips, Michaela’s eyes fluttered open. Looking dazed, she stared at Bianca then turned her head toward Dev, still crouched at her feet. Her gaze suddenly sharpened and going rigid, she wrenched her hands from his. She started to say something to him but caught herself, instead addressing the housekeeper.
“Thank you, Bianca. I’m fine now. It’s past your quitting time. You can go.”
“You are sure, señora? I can stay if you need me.”
“No, I’m all right, really. Go home to your family. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Bianca glanced worriedly at Dev, who had risen to stand with hands on his hips, observing the women’s exchange. “As you wish, señora.”
Dev took a seat on the doc’s sand-colored couch. She eyed him suspiciously while they waited in silence for the housekeeper to leave. Once the front door clicked shut behind her, Michaela spoke.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth, Mr… . Medina, was it?”
“Dev Medina,” he said with a nod, wishing she’d use his first name. Prepared for her question, he pulled out a silver chain necklace with a pendent attached to it. “Lara gave me this to show you. She said you would recognize it.” He reached over and laid it in her hand.
Catching her breath, she stared at the object. Then her icy blue eyes met his. “Tell me what you came to say.”
“First, I think you know Lara by a different name. Flewellen perhaps?”
She compressed her lips and eyed him in wary silence.
Figuring he’d guessed right, Dev leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “Lara was injured pretty badly in the accident that took her uncle’s life. Later, she learned it was no accident. Someone tampered with the car. They meant to kill Malcolm Flewellen and probably Lara.”
Michaela turned pale again. “But sh-she’s all right now? She’s safe?”
“Yes. She’s with a friend of mine. He’s taking her someplace where the Hellhounds – that’s what she calls the ones who are after her – will have a hard time finding her.” Realizing he’d just called Conn O’Shea his friend, Dev wondered how that had slipped out. He damn sure didn’t consider the man his friend any longer, not after what had happened on their last job.
“These Hellhounds you say are after Lara, who are they?”
Dev sat back and crossed his arms. “I don’t know. She doesn’t know either from what she said. After recuperating from the, uh, accident, she evidently found out they were trying to get their hands on her, so she took off for Ireland and hid out there. That’s where my … acquaintance met her. He saved her from the bad guys when they tracked her down. The two of them escaped and came to me for help.”
The golden goddess furrowed her lovely brow. “What kind of help?”
He shrugged. “I’m good at solving riddles and Lara had a big one to solve. She didn’t know how to locate you and the other Guardians. That’s what you’re called, right?”
“She told you about us?” she blurted, clutching the silver pendant to her chest.
“Don’t worry, she didn’t give away all your secrets. She just needed me to find you.” Dev smiled, trying to appear modest. “And I did.”
CHAPTER TWO
Michaela stared at Dev Medina, feeling disconnected from reality. He’d turned her world upside down with news of Malcolm Flewellen’s death and now he sat there watching her with intense blue eyes, much darker than her own. Waiting for her to speak, she realized.
Lifting her chin, she let him know he couldn’t intimidate her, even if he did look capable of tearing her limb from limb. Big and handsome in a blunt-featured way, with brownish blond hair tied back in a short tail, he wore a maroon polo shirt with a pocket-size Texas A&M University logo monogrammed in white over his heart. The color complimented his tan complexion and stretched taut across a brawny chest and arms roped with muscle. Had he used his strength to ruthlessly take what he wanted from Lara?
Breaking eye contact with him, she studied the Celtic knot pendant Malcolm had presented to Lara at her initiation, signifying her status as his apprentice. Had she truly given it to Medina, or had he ripped it off her dead body? Had she revealed the Guardians’ existence willingly or had he tortured the information out of her? Michaela had no doubt he could inflict terrible pain if he chose. She must be careful.
“How exactly did
you find me?”
He scraped a hand over his square jaw. “It’s like this; I was a code breaker in the Army. Lara has a book that belonged to her uncle. In it there are six pages written in code.”
Michaela stiffened, guessing what those pages contained, and Medina nodded as if reading her mind. “Lara figured each page held the location of one Guardian, but she couldn’t decipher the code.”
“So she asked you to decode the pages?”
“Yes. Conn, my … acquaintance, told her about me and brought her to my place in Houston.”
“But why would she trust you with the book?” Frowning, she studied him, searching for any sign of deceit.
“Lara trusts Conn and he trusts me.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “And I guess she felt she didn’t have a choice. After nearly being captured in Ireland, she was desperate to warn you and the others about the Hellhounds. She wanted to come to you herself, but Conn convinced her it was too dangerous. That’s why I’m here instead.” He returned her stare unflinchingly, as if willing her to believe him.
Michaela used her special gift to lightly touch the surface of his mind. She didn’t dare probe deeper. Most people could not tell when she gently pried into their thoughts, but she had run into a few individuals over the years who perceived her mental touch. Besides, she considered it unethical to snoop in other people’s thoughts except in cases where it might help her understand a patient’s mental disorder. From what she could tell, Medina’s psyche appeared untainted by evil, although the heated vibes he projected as he looked at her made her squirm in her chair. She also sensed an unusual undercurrent of psychic power, although she couldn’t discern what his gift was without conducting a deep probe.
“Supposing I believe you, what is Lara’s message for me? Other than news of Malcolm’s death, that is?”
“She advises you to be cautious and not trust strangers.” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to challenge that statement. “Besides me,” he added with a disarming grin that made him more handsome and less intimidating. It did unexpected things to her insides.
“Lara also urges you to leave here.”
Michaela frowned. “Leave my home, leave Galveston? Why should I do that?”
“She’s afraid the Hellhounds will find you.”
“How? No one outside our immediate circle knows who we are. No one except you and this Conn you mentioned.”
He arched his sandy brows. “Malcolm Flewellen’s killers found out he was guarding something valuable or he’d still be alive and Lara wouldn’t be on the run. It’s possible they also know there are others Guardians.”
She looked away, staring across the room, seeing nothing. He was right. Malcolm’s murderers might know about all seven sacred scrolls and the Comhairle, the Council of Guardians. Did they know she was on the Council, that she guarded one of the scrolls? The thought made her shiver, but even so, how could she just pick up and leave? Her practice was here. She had her patients to consider and –
The doorbell chimed again, giving her a start. Remembering her dinner date, she glanced at her watch. “Oh! I didn’t realize the time.” She rose and thrust the pendant at Medina. “Put that away. No one must see it. Excuse me,” she added and, ignoring his frown, hurried to open the door.
“Hello, Andrew,” she said with a smile for her handsome caller.
“Good evening, gorgeous.” Dark gaze sliding over her, he flashed a dazzling grin in return. He wore a charcoal gray suit, crisp white shirt and subdued tie. His black hair was perfectly combed, reminding her that her own unruly mane needed taming.
“Come in, please. I’m not quite ready. Uh, I have unexpected company.”
His grin slipped. “Anyone I know?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She led him into the living room where her other guest stood, face a stony mask of displeasure. A muscle jumped along his clenched jaw.
“Andrew Kohler, this is Dev Medina.” She clasped her hands, watching the two men exchange unfriendly stares.
“I saw you on the beach, speaking to Michaela,” Andrew said, his words clipped.
“Yeah, I remember you, too,” Medina drawled with a laser-blue glare. “This is twice today you’ve interrupted my conversation with the lady.”
Andrew puffed out his chest. “And it’s twice you have delayed her date with me.”
Oh dear, this isn’t good, Michaela thought. Clearing her throat, she stepped between the two, facing Medina. “I need time to think over what we discussed. Why don’t you give me your cell number before you leave?” She emphasized the last two words. “I’ll call you.”
He glowered at her for a moment, making her stomach knot. Fearing he might refuse to go, she breathed a sigh of relief when he gave a brusque nod. She grabbed a note pad and pen from beside her landline phone on a nearby table and handed them to him. He jotted down his number with slashes of the pen then handed both items back to her.
“Talk to you soon, Doc,” he said curtly and strode from the room, bumping Andrew’s shoulder as he passed – deliberately, Michaela was certain. The front door slammed shut after him.
“Who was that uncouth oaf?” Andrew sneered. “What did he want with you?”
“He’s here on business.” Taken aback by his demanding tone and the surge of rage rippling off of him, she wasn’t about to tell him anything more. He had a right to take umbrage at Dev Medina’s rude behavior. That she could understand, but they’d known each other for barely one day. He had no business questioning her in such a tone, with such violence behind it.
“I need to fix my hair,” she said. ”Have a seat. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Turning on her heel, she marched into the hall and upstairs to her bedroom, suddenly wishing she hadn’t agreed to go out with him. However, she didn’t relish his reaction if she told him she’d changed her mind, so she went ahead and styled her hair. Brushing the wavy mass into a semblance of order, she started to pin it back from her face with her favorite cloisonné combs with their Celtic knot designs but stopped, substituting a pair of much plainer gold combs. They went well enough with her black dress. She’d save the others for another time, another man perhaps.
Dev Medina’s bold features popped into her head, leading her to pause and stare at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She didn’t seriously want to get involved with him, did she? No, of course not!
Andrew’s description of him as uncouth wasn’t entirely wrong. Even so, she kept picturing Medina’s broad shoulders and engaging grin in her mind’s eye. She also recalled his warning – from Lara, he claimed – not to trust strangers.
Her heart stuttered. Andrew was a virtual stranger to her. And those enraged vibes he’d given off moments ago were so over the top. Could he be one of the so-called Hellhounds?
Good grief! Medina was making her paranoid. Giving herself a shake, Michaela freshened her lipstick, draped a black silk shawl splashed with coral roses around her shoulders and picked up her clutch-style evening bag. Then she rejoined Andrew in the living room. She found him pacing slowly back and forth across the hard wood floor.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said from the room’s entrance.
He stopped and looked up. A gleaming smile spread across his face. “You’re worth the wait. You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Andrew. Shall we go?”
“Indeed we shall.” He stepped to her side, offered his arm and walked her out, every inch a gentleman. So different from Dev Medina.
*
Dev strode away from Michaela Peterson’s house feeling frustrated and angry. He longed to go back and flatten that pretty boy who’d barged in between him and his golden goddess again. She was meant for him, not Kohler. He considered following them just to make sure she was okay. Jealousy had nothing to do with it.
Quit lying to yourself! You’re jealous as hell, he admitted. But if Michaela were to spot him following her, she might think he was one of the Hellhounds. Then she’d never trust him. Like it or no
t, for now he had to give her some space.
Damn, he still could hardly believe she was the one he’d come to find for Lara. He’d thought nothing could ever shake him again after the horrors of war in Afghanistan, but discovering his golden girl was Dr. Peterson had knocked him for a loop. The part of his brain that gave him the sight sometimes played tricks on him, but this time it had been right on target. His scowl lifted. The doc didn’t know it yet but she was going to be his. It was fate.
Driving back to his hotel, he wondered how he could convince her to leave Galveston and her life here behind. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, especially with Kohler in the picture. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Who was the bastard? Had Michaela known him long? Was she serious about him? The questions swarmed around his brain like furious hornets.
It was almost dark when he arrived back at the hotel. Parking the Range Rover, he walked into the lobby. Instead of going to his room, he headed into the restaurant for a meal and a stiff drink. The place was packed, no surprise on Saturday night, but it further aggravated his foul mood. Squeezing into a spot at the bar, he caught the bar tender’s attention and ordered a whiskey neat.
The brand wasn’t his favorite but after a few swallows, it helped sooth him somewhat. He ordered another, pivoted with it in hand and leaned back against the bar’s rounded edge. Sipping his drink, he glanced around the room. Every table was taken. Should he have the hostess put his name on the waiting list or order food at the bar? Short on patience, he decided on the latter.
Just as he was turning to place an order, the dude next to him bumped his arm, causing him to spill the rest of his whiskey down the front of his favorite A&M shirt.
“Shit!” he muttered.
The young punk, who was dressed like an urban cowboy, pivoted with a beer mug in his hand and stared at Dev’s wet shirt. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to give you a bath.” He broke out laughing and poked the guy beside him in the ribs, sharing the joke.