“Alexandria!”
She blinked and met his brown gaze. Did her expression look as confused as she felt? “I hear you.”
“Then get out of here. You are not ready to fight a demon alone.”
Big Joe glanced at the supine weasel demon. She followed the direction of his gaze. Did that freaking thing just twitch? As if it had sensed her scrutiny, a couple of fingers on his hand jerked.
Her mind whirling with the events of the past few minutes, Lexi let Big Joe push her toward the door. Then outside. Blinking in the late afternoon sun, she watched him shove the door shut and brace a scraped board against the handle.
“That will not hold him. Yet it should be enough for you to get away. Go back to Mikos.”
Mikos? Big Joe knew of Mikos? Lexi closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to settle, to stop from using her brain as a ping-pong table. The befuddled web of her mind cleared. Instead of fear, anger swept in. She felt her cheeks flush.
“What the hell is going on, Joe? Who are you?”
Lexi planted her feet. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got some answers from the not-really-an-accountant.
“Lexi, this is not the time.” Joe glanced around. “Or the place for that matter. You must go.”
“No.”
“Stubborn woman.”
“You got that right. So, spill.” She placed her hands on her hips in case he hadn’t received the message she wasn’t leaving without information.
Joe, whoever he really was, sighed. “Very well. But not here.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a white card. Great, another business card. Before handing it to her, he touched a fingertip on the surface. A flash of light, and words appeared. No, not words, but numbers and words.
“Give this to Mikos. He will tell you as much as he can.” She took the proffered card. “But, you must go.”
She held his gaze. Frustration mixed with sincerity colored his expression. He was unhappy, yet she understood that whatever he gave her was real. A brief bob of her head.
“Now.”
As if to punctuate his command, a thud from behind the old steel doors shuddered the frame. Okay, so maybe leaving was not such a bad idea.
With a final glance over her shoulder at Joe, Lexi took off. In that last look, she saw something that nearly made her stop and go back. Joe’s form blurred at the edges, the same sunlight yellow glow that had knocked the demon on his ass, surrounded the accountant.
What kept her butt moving was the sound of a particularly loud bang, followed by a bulge in the door’s surface that said it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.
From the shadows, Jackson McKay watched the conversation between his target and the short man. He’d been plumb lucky to be at the honky-tonk when the woman arrived. As his momma always said, patience was a virtue. She’d made sure this was one he excelled in. Good things come to those who wait had definitely proven true in this case.
Figuring she’d meet up with Tyomni at some point, Jackson planned to follow when she left. He hunkered down for the wait. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a piece of jerky and slowly gnawed on the end. When was the last time he’d eaten a real meal?
He studied the woman. Her specific features were hidden by the late afternoon shadows cast by the light of the sun. The same light that hid her face, sharply outlined her curvy figure. An athletic shape, lean and strong but with fine rounded hips and shapely thighs. Not his type, though. Too exotic looking. He preferred voluptuous blondes. Vapid, voluptuous blondes. The more vapid, the better.
However, he did respect the strength he’d noted in Lexi’s eyes when he’d first spoken with her. While his respect didn’t mean he’d turn away from doing his job, it just meant he’d be, well, more honorable about it. As much as he could be and as long as he got the job done.
The morality of his views or the way he earned a living didn’t bother him. Not overmuch, anyways. He made good money, very good money, working behind the scenes for those individuals of less than decent character. As long as he never hurt anyone, what did it matter? Besides, his momma lived in a fine house because of his jobs.
His current benefactor preferred to keep to the shadows himself. Jackson had never actually met the man who paid a helluva lot of money for a simple family heirloom supposedly of little value to anyone but the man’s family.
His employer had not been pleased when Jackson returned without the object. Or the woman’s whereabouts. That’s a burr under his hide he’d sooner forget. Failing.
Jackson had believed the man was done with him. Until the most recent phone call. His employer was giving him another chance. A last shot at getting the balance of what was owed.
All he had to do was follow her. Her apartment was a wash. Nothing there fit the description his employer provided of an old book, hand-written on animal skin with unusual markings.
So here he was. Skulking about like a coon waiting for the woman to lead him to where she’d gone to ground. Then he’d be able to get to her. A simple in and out. A snatch and grab of whatever she had his employer wanted.
The woman finished her conversation with the little man. Jackson straightened. From the scowl on her face, she appeared all choked up over something. Long legs chewed up the dirt, nearing then passing his location.
He watched her go, for a moment transfixed by the sway of the woman’s ass. Definitely a looker.
When he realized she didn’t intend to call a taxi, Jackson groaned and eyed his SLR McLaren Roadster. It wasn’t like the flashy sapphire blue sportster could mix with the surroundings. After setting the ATA, he made a quick call to his assistant.
Damn it to hell. Why didn’t the fool woman call a taxi? Already feeling the blisters forming on his feet, Jackson lit out after her. He’d tack on another hundred dollars for new boots. And five hundred thousand if anything happened to the car.
Chapter Fifteen
“I generally avoid temptation unless I can’t resist it.”
Mae West
Jackson moved through the still night, his passing barely stirring the leaves littering the ground. You’d think someone with enough money to live in a mansion could afford to have the ground maintained. But then, maybe Mikos Tyomni spent his money on other, more physical pursuits.
Like the woman from the strip club.
Or treasure hunting.
Jackson was very familiar with Tyomni. Oh, he hadn’t met the man, mostly knew him by his notoriety. Along with reclusiveness, Tyomni was reputed to possess one of the largest, most eclectic collections of artifacts outside a museum. And to protect his collection, Tyomni’s mansion boasted security second to none. Or so Jackson heard. He was figuring on testing those claims tonight.
Not that the tight security mattered a hell of a lot. Jackson had entered more secure places. He crouched behind a low hedge, then reached for a glossy leaved branch. In the next moment, he let out a hiss as a sharp pain pierced his fingertips.
I shoulda known better. Ah hell. Just ’cause a chicken has wings don’t mean it can fly. Swearing under his breath, after calling himself all kinds of fool, he eyed the offending plant. How many years had he’d skulked in the dark? Before now, he’d never been as stupid as not to anticipate non-traditional measures.
Security was never just about bells and whistles. It was as much about the most innocuous object masking as the most dangerously effective.
The low-lying, dense shrubbery packed a wallop, providing an effective barrier. Jackson upped his estimation of Tyomni. An inconvenience, this hedge. Meant he had to continue around to the house. Not his first plan, but he’d make it work. He needed to get into the mansion, find the woman and get her to give up this book his employer described.
Creeping along the shrubs, Jackson turned a corner. There, a break in the form of a cellar entrance. He hesitated. His favorite motto—fools rush in—crossed his mind. Risky he was—a fool, most definitely not.
His
instincts screamed a warning. Jackson had barely enough space to leap to the side as a figure dressed in inky black detached itself from the night and landed on the ground near him. No grunt of exertion or muffled thud sounded from the figure’s obviously long distance jump.
In a brief moment, he assessed the intruder. Not an inch of flesh was exposed to the chilly fall air. Even the mask showed no glint of white from eyes. In fact, Jackson wasn’t sure he could see eyes.
Only his instincts saved him.
The figure bent into a slight crouch then launched a straight punch. Coming in low, the strike headed for his ribs. Somehow he knew if it connected, he’d likely end up with a broken rib or two. He brought his right elbow down, protecting his ribs. The strike connected, slamming his elbow to the side, deflecting the punch.
As if the figure expected such a response, it followed up with a spin then a roundhouse knee to his side on the heels of the strike. With as much grace as drunk, Jackson dodged to the side, narrowly missing the strike.
Christ on a cracker, the attacker fought well. And hard. His skills by no means shoddy, Jackson found the attacker’s deathly silence unnerving. Which made him angry. He didn’t like feeling as if someone had a secret he didn’t share.
Worse, the longer he played, the more chance Tyomni would discover him. An opening in her defenses, and Jackson took it. Lunging at the figure, he swept his outside leg into the figure’s lower leg.
Grabbing his opponent’s left wrist, he placed a hand on the shoulder, pushing forward. At the same time, he chopped his heel against the bend of the figure’s knee, jolting the figure’s upper body forward.
Moving quickly, Jackson hooked his same-side arm around the figure, pulling him in then sweeping backward. The figure collapsed to the ground. He followed, slamming his knee into the figure’s chest, pinning him to the ground.
For the first time, the figure let out a sound. Part hiss, part growl. And feminine.
All feminine.
Mid-strike, he halted. Aw hell. His momma had always told him never to strike a woman. Winging a silent apology to his mother, Jackson reached under the mask’s edge and yanked it from the pinned woman’s head.
Spilling from the cap, long red-hair tumbled about her shoulders and shimmered like fire, even under the half-light of a quarter moon, flickering and dancing about her face. High cheekbones in a porcelain face. A perfect face.
Except for the fangs showing under full lips pulled back in a snarl and the glowing red eyes.
In that moment, just as quick as the realization, Jackson lost his advantage. The woman bucked and hooked her legs behind him throwing him to the side and off. He continued the movement and sprang to his feet.
She had also settled into a half-crouch, her arms out to her side. Red hair curled in loose waves about her face. A face not so much lovely, but strong, rimmed with hardness.
She hissed again, her lips pulling back to show the fangs he’d half believed, hoped, he’d imagined earlier.
“Mortal, you trespass.” The woman’s words curled around the fangs, her accent thick, yet with a purr he could feel to the tips of his toes.
Lovely.
Feral.
Deadly.
Jackson didn’t know what she was, just that he wanted to stick his fingers into her fire to see how much he’d be burned. Damn fool. Shaking off the odd desire, he bent his head to the woman.
“Pardon me, ma’am. I seem to be lost.” He swept a hand through the air, encompassing the house. “I thought this was my friend’s house.”
An inward grimace. That explanation sounded lame even to his ears. The skeptical glint in the woman’s red eyes told him she agreed. Perhaps deciding on how to best evict him. Or if her arched fingers, tipped with long nails painted in bright red, were any indication, eviscerate him.
“You lie,” the woman said, her lips now relaxed, yet her head was canted to the side, much like a puppy does when first learning to listen to its human family. On her, it wasn’t cute. On her, it was more the calm before the tornado.
Jackson shrugged. “A bad habit.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to see the woman.”
“No.”
“She has something of mine.”
The redhead’s lips twitched. “I doubt it.”
“Shoot. Got me again.” Jackson managed a sheepish grin. “Actually, it’s my employer’s. He’s paid me a lot of money to return his property to him.” He winked. “I don’t like to fail my employers.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be doing just that. Go away before you get hurt.”
Mari watched the handsome mortal’s lips pull back into a wide grin. White teeth flashed in a dark face. Broad shoulders and chest sat atop a lean waist. The dark clothing he probably expected to blend with the night hugged his body like a second skin.
The mortal fought without precision and with ill-defined grace, yet there was untrained power behind his defenses. If she hadn’t her own skills, the fight might have very well ended with her still pinned beneath his powerful form. A troubling thought.
“Well, now, I can’t do that. My reputation is at stake.”
She firmed her stance. “And what reputation is that?”
“Besides my charming ways with women?” A half quirk of his lips. “I find lost things.”
“Lost things? Or stolen?”
He shrugged. “I’m not hired to care either way. However, I always find what I’m looking for. In fact, that’s my motto, Jackson McKay always finds what he’s looking for.”
“Cute.”
“What can I say? I’m adorable.”
Lights surrounding the building snapped on. Mari tilted her head to look at them, yet she still kept Jackson McKay in her view. She had a feeling turning her back to him was tantamount to asking for trouble. Getting hurt didn’t scare her. She feared…something else.
While light didn’t bother her, she was used to working in the darkness. Her eyes narrowed against the glare. “I’m afraid you’ll have to return to your employer empty handed. There is nothing for you here.”
“Well, I don’t know. I figure what I’m looking for is behind these huge walls.”
Behind the man’s nonchalant and flippant attitude, Mari suspected he was acutely aware of his surroundings and the fact the lights would indicate he had little time left.
“Indeed. Yet, if you stay too much longer, you’ll be spending the night in jail.”
She could almost hear the thoughts whirling around in the mortal’s mind.
“Ah, well, another time then.” He sketched a slight bow. At the same time, keeping his eyes on her, he backed up.
Mari considered chasing him down. Instead, she merely held his glance and did nothing as the mortal turned and melted into the shadows. When she was sure he was gone, she allowed a smile to stretch across her face. The mortal was charming like a cute pet. She had no doubt he’d return.
And she’d be waiting.
“Lexi.”
The voice calling her name whispered through her mind on a soft sigh.
“Lexi, help me.”
The pain in the voice tugged at her heart. She knew that voice. Knew that soft and clear tone, the fragile edges. Devyn.
Lexi sat upright, her sleep-filled eyes searching the shadows. One of the shadows shifted and separated, forming into the petite figure of Devyn.
Was this real? The line separating real from imaginary no longer seemed solid. Its boundaries had been scuffed and broken in places, leaving Lexi adrift. She didn’t know how to act at the appearance of Devyn. So she simply stared at the apparition.
A weak smile pulled at the young girl’s lips, but didn’t reach her blue eyes. At odds with the smile, reproach filled the soft depths. Did Devyn blame Lexi for not saving her in the first place or because she hadn’t found her?
Whispers filled her head. Whispers of a place cold and dark. Of tiny sounds in the pitch-black, scrabbling against stone walls. Of unfamiliar s
mells. Dank smells, evil smells. Devyn never opened her mouth, yet Lexi heard it all.
She threw back the covers and hesitantly approached the young girl. “Where are you?” As she neared, the skin on Devyn’s face—moved. Shifted, a rippling movement. No, not the skin but something under the skin.
Lexi froze, feeling the clammy touch of fear tiptoe up her spine. Something was very wrong.
Without warning, Devyn raised her hands, the fingers turning into claws and lunged at Lexi.
“No!” Lexi shrieked and woke. Jerking upright, she looked wildly about the room. In the semi-darkness of dawn peeking in through the windows, only the familiar outlines of furniture had form. No Devyn.
No sylph-like girl with claws where fingernails should be.
“Freaking hell.” Raising a shaking hand, Lexi brushed back damp hair from her cheeks. A dream then. No, that’s not right. A nightmare.
Her room door flew open, crashing into the opposite wall. Another dark figure stood in the doorway. Her breath caught.
While the sensible part of her mind scoffed at the thought freaky Devyn had returned, the experienced, street-smart side reached slowly for the dagger she kept beside her bed. “Who’s there?”
“Mikos.” A pause. “I heard a cry. Are you okay?”
Lexi puffed out a breath on an exhale and slid the knife back into its resting place. “Yeah, just a bad dream.”
“I felt a disturbance.”
She reached over and flipped on the lamp by her bed. The soft glow lit up the room, its gentle light extending around the bed yet failing to penetrate the corners. Nevertheless, she felt comforted by its glow.
Speaking of disturbance, Mikos’s attire, or lack thereof, did more to disrupt her state of mind than a visit from a claw-wearing visitor.
Damn near naked in flannel-type sleep pants. The navy blue pajama bottoms hung low just enough she could see the sprinkling of dark chest hair arrow to a point below the waistband.
Even worse, his body may look alert, his languorous expression and tousled hair sent an entirely different message. One that her body, if not her mind, ached to answer.
Key of Solomon: Relic Defenders, Book 1 Page 20