by Rebecca York
“The box belongs to a religious group. They call themselves the Way of the Moon. Or simply, the Moon Priests.”
Beth had mentioned an ancient moon cult. So that rang true. And how would Luke know about it? She let that question go and tipped her head to the side, staring at him. “Why don’t you give the box to those men—and be done with it?”
“It does not belong to them. They want the power of the box for . . .” He paused and thought about it. “I do not know for sure who sent them.”
“I thought the box was from an ancient cult. Are you saying it still has power?”
“The Way of the Moon is still active in the world, and they still have enormous power. So does the box.”
“What is the power?”
“That is not for you to know.”
“Well, thanks. I can get shot at trying to save the damn thing. But I can’t know why.”
His eyes turned fierce, and she knew she was talking directly to Zabastian—not Luke. “You must accept what I tell you.”
She swallowed. “It’s a difficult story to believe.” Before he could object, she went on quickly. “What does the box have to do with us?”
“I was charged with the duty of protecting it.”
“You? Luke or Zabastian?”
He gave her a long look. “I think you are smart enough to figure it out,” he answered.
She held his gaze. “If what you’re saying is true—then you’re using Luke Garner. Without his permission.”
His face contorted, and she would have sworn that Luke was in there—that he was trying to say something to her. But this other man—the man she didn’t know—had taken control of the conversation.
She waited with her stomach muscles clenched. Her assumption was confirmed when Zabastian said, “The box must be restored to its rightful owners.”
“Or what?”
He was silent for several seconds, and she thought he might be having some kind of internal dialogue. “Or something very bad will happen.”
“What?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Back to square one.” She eyed the box. “What are you saying—that this thing is a bomb or something?”
“That is close enough.”
A wave of cold swept over her. “Then why don’t we just take it to the police?”
He tipped his head to the side, studying her. “First—because the police will think I am as crazy as you do.”
She swallowed. “That obvious—huh?”
“Yes. You assume I am . . .” There was another one of his pauses. “Schizophrenic.”
“No,” she answered when she was thinking she was in a car with a madman and a time bomb.
He gripped her arm. “Do not lie to me. Mental illness is your only reference. It is hard for you to believe that a spirit was trapped in the box. You think that is a . . . delusion.”
When she didn’t answer, he went on. “But you saw the mist shoot out of the box after Luke opened the final latch. The mist with the spirit of Zabastian. The warrior joined with Luke Garner’s mind and body. You know it, even if you do not want to admit it.”
“Okay,” she said because there was no use arguing. And in truth, she wasn’t sure what to argue about. If Luke was delusional, then she wasn’t going to change his mind. And if “Zabastian” was telling the truth, then she was in deep monkey doo, as he might put it.
He began speaking again. “If we went to the police, we would have another problem, too. They will try to keep the box . . . as evidence. That will give the thieves the chance to acquire it again. So I must return the box to the Grand Master of the Moon. Only he can take advantage of its power.”
Olivia turned and stared out the window, watching the wind blow a piece of crumpled paper down the sidewalk. She wanted to ask the man beside her to let her go. But where would that leave Luke?
As though he were following her thought processes, he said, “You must stay with me, until we can turn the box over to its owners.”
“Why?”
He kept his gaze fixed on her. “We got away from the garage. But you are still in grave danger. If the men who attacked us cannot find the box and cannot find me—they will come after you.” His voice was low and harsh. “They will torture you, and when you can’t give them the information, you will die painfully.”
She winced. “That’s pretty grim.”
“It is the truth.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?”
oOo
Carl Peterbalm had enjoyed a very nice dinner at the Prime Rib, one of Baltimore’s premier restaurants. Or—to put that in perspective—he had ordered a very nice dinner, starting with a double martini. He’d gulped the gin, but he hadn’t done the rest of the meal justice because he’d been worrying about the shipment of antiques that he’d ordered from France.
He’d gotten it from a dealer who had promised him extra high value for his money. Neither one of them had mentioned the words “stolen goods,” but that had been implicit in the transaction.
Either that or “forgeries.” It didn’t matter which. You didn’t get legitimate merchandise like this shipment for what he’d paid.
Carl had weighed the pros and cons and decided to accept the offer because he was determined to show his father that he could make a killing in the import part of their business. Dad thought he was the only one who could score the big bucks. But Carl could do him one better.
He’d ordered the merchandise and waited impatiently for it to arrive. The trouble was, once Olivia had started unwrapping the antiques, he’d gotten a very bad feeling.
He couldn’t say exactly why. Well, it had something to do with that chest with the nature stuff and the moons carved all over it. The moment he’d seen it, he’d felt a strange chill in the room—like the box was haunted. And he’d thought Olivia felt it too.
Reluctant to start a discussion about it, he’d gone out to dinner to think about what he should do. And he’d come to the conclusion that the box should be locked in the safe—until he could get an opinion about it. So he started back to the office.
When he pulled into the garage, he saw that Olivia’s car was still in its parking slot. He also noticed a strange smell in the air—like maybe some kids had been setting off fireworks. And he spotted some chips in the paint of some of the cement columns.
Well, he’d have to speak to the management about making sure the place was secure, he thought as he hurried to the elevator.
Once he reached the third floor, he strode down the darkened hall toward the office where he’d left his research assistant.
She should be hard at work, but he didn’t hear anything when he stepped into the outer office.
“Olivia?”
She didn’t answer. Maybe she’d gone to the ladies’ room or gone down to the canteen to get something to eat.
As soon as he pushed into the room where she’d been working, he stopped short. The office was in shambles.
The pitcher she’d unwrapped was lying in pieces on the floor, and it looked like someone had swept some of the shards under the table.
The chair at the desk was overturned. And pieces of the shipment were out of the cartons and thrown willy-nilly around the floor—along with the packing materials.
In short, it looked like a hurricane had blown through the office. Well, not a hurricane—a person or persons, desperate to find something.
The box?
Now why was that the first thing he thought of?
Carl scrambled around the room looking for the antique. It appeared to be gone.
Why—and how?
Was Olivia working for someone sinister? Was this smashup a setup designed to make him think something bad had happened to her?
He reached for the phone to call the police. Before he could dial 911, he cursed under his breath and put the receiver back in the cradle.
He couldn’t get the law involved—not if the shipment was really stolen.
So now what? Maybe Olivia was somewhere else in the building. Hiding from whoever had done this?
If so, maybe he’d better get the hell out of here before they came looking for him.
He was about to leave when he heard a noise from the doorway. Spinning around, he got ready to duck behind the table.
“Mr. Peterbalm?” The question came from a woman who worked in one of the other offices. Betty something. He didn’t remember her last name, but he’d seen Olivia talking to her.
“Yes,” he breathed. “What happened here?”
She looked around, her eyes widening as she took in the mess.
“What happened?” he repeated.
“I don’t know. I saw Olivia and Luke. They were running out of the office. They said there had been a robbery—and I should hide.”
“Luke Garner?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing here?”
“A computer problem, I assume.”
“There was a robbery? Did they call the cops?”
“They said not to.” The woman looked around nervously. “Are you going to call the police now?”
“I’d better talk to the insurance company first,” he improvised, hoping she’d buy the line.
“Oh right.” She backed out of the room, and Carl followed, wondering what he was going to do now.
oOo
“We have to find a place to hide out,” Luke said, answering Olivia’s question.
He was still trying to cope with his new reality. His thoughts were no longer private. His actions were no longer his own. And his life was now dedicated to saving a relic of the Moon Temple from robbers who would cheerfully kill him and Olivia if they could find them.
But if his thoughts were no longer private, neither were Zabastian’s. The warrior was going to deliver the box back to its rightful owners—if it killed him. And Luke along with him.
Luke’s only advantage was that Zabastian had awakened in a totally strange environment. He knew nothing about twenty-first century America. And he was smart enough to realize that he needed Luke Garner’s help to survive here.
At the same time, a good portion of the warrior’s thoughts were focused on Olivia. He wanted her, and he was going to seduce her, if he could manage it.
Luke wanted her, too. Had wanted her since he’d taken this assignment, although he told himself he couldn’t have her while he was on a job for Decorah. But a couple of minutes after waking up, Zabastian had pulled her on top of himself and started kissing her.
He laughed inwardly. If he were going to get shot by the Poisoned Ones, he might as well let Zabastian do his worst—or maybe it was his best—with Olivia.
Luke was still contemplating that scenario with happy anticipation when he caught another thought in the warrior’s mind.
No, he inwardly screamed.
I have observed your world. I know what I’m doing, Zabastian’s deep voice answered inside his head.
Luke felt his jaw muscles work. Heard words come out of his mouth. It sounded like his voice. But he wasn’t the one speaking. It was the warrior.
“Thank you for getting us out of the garage. I can drive now.”
Olivia peered at him. “You’re sure that’s all right? I mean, aren’t you having a . . . problem?”
Luke felt Zabastian give her his most charming smile. “It is my car. I know how to drive it.”
“You’re not talking like Luke.”
He tipped his head to the side, looking at her, making silent assessments. Casually, he reached out and touched her shoulder. “It’s me. He’s just mixing up my speech patterns a little bit. Let me get behind the wheel. I know where we’re going, so it makes more sense for me to drive.”
She looked cautiously at him. Luke tried to make his fingers tighten on her shoulder, tried to warn her that the words coming out of his mouth were lies. But he wasn’t the one calling the shots. The big Z had taken over again. And this time he was going to get them into trouble.
Luke held his breath, waiting to see what Olivia would do. Unfortunately, she got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side.
Luke also climbed out and stood beside her on the darkened street. “You were fantastic,” he said. He put his arms around her and pulled her against his body, stroking her hands over her back. “I never knew a woman who could handle herself with such bravery and style.”
Despite his qualms about what the warrior had up his sleeve, Luke couldn’t help admiring the smooth line and rejoicing.in Olivia’s reaction. A few minutes ago, she’d been questioning his sanity. It seemed, however, that she was still willing to respond to him.
Smoothly, Zabastian lowered his head to Olivia’s. He stroked his lips over hers, sending tingles of heat shooting through Luke’s blood. And when his lips settled on hers, the heat pooled in the lower part of his body.
He was instantly aroused. Instantly ready for sex.
In some part of his mind, he knew there was nothing they could do about it now—not out here on the street. But he couldn’t stop himself from going a little farther. Or, rather, stop Zabastian, since he was still the one in charge of this scene.
He went along for the very exciting ride, taking greedy sips from her mouth as his hands stroked over her shoulders and back, then found her spine, playing his fingers up and down the delicate column.
Nice move, Luke thought as he heard her make a small sound of appreciation, felt her move against him, her middle pressing tantalizingly against his cock, telling him she craved the contact as much as he did.
With a practiced motion, his other hand traveled to her ribs, sliding up and down, then settling against the side of her breast, exploring the wonderful fullness of her.
She moved her head, languidly, invitingly. He found her tongue with his, delicately stroking, judging her reaction with satisfaction.
He might not be the greatest lover of the twenty-first century, but he knew when a woman was signaling that she wanted to go farther. Too bad the car was so small. There was no place to stretch out in the backseat. But maybe they could do it sitting up, with her in his lap.
Luke would have edged them toward the vehicle, but Zabastian lifted his head.
“Not here,” he said in a gritty voice. “We shouldn’t stay out on the street.”
Olivia blinked, and he saw her take in their surroundings.
“Let’s go.” He helped her into the car, then walked around to the driver’s door.
Luke hoped against hope that once he’d slid behind the wheel, Zabastian would turn the car over to him. But the warrior stayed in the driver’s seat—literally and figuratively.
Luke tried to wrest away control. He might as well have tried to grab a piece of wood from the heart of a tree trunk.
Alarm flashed through him. What the hell do you think you’re doing?
The warrior didn’t bother to answer him. Instead he reached into Luke’s mind and pulled out the information that he needed to drive the car.
Part of the information, anyway. He started the engine but didn’t buckle up first.
Seat belt! Luke shouted.
Zabastian’s eyes narrowed, but he took the time to access that bit of knowledge, then reached for the belt and pulled it across his chest, before fumbling the buckle into place. He also turned on the headlights.
Then he stepped on the clutch, slammed the gear lever into reverse, and started to back out of the parking space. Unfortunately, another car was coming up the street. As Zabastian tried to pull out in front of him, the other driver leaned on the horn. Zabastian stomped on the brake, making the car rock from front to back.
Olivia had turned toward him.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I’m just a little jumpy.”
This time he looked up and down the narrow street and waited for another set of headlights to pass before propelling the car into the traffic lane.
But it was hardly a smooth exit. And when the warrior jammed the car in
to first gear, the vehicle lurched forward. Realizing he was going too fast, he braked again.
It’s not as easy as you think. There’s a lot you have to do at once. That’s why you need to pass a driving test before they let you loose with one of these machines.
Quiet! Let me concentrate.
Luke clamped his lips together as the car shot down the street, almost sideswiping a couple of parked cars on the passenger side.
Olivia winced—along with Luke.
Her gaze shot to him, and her eyes widened. “You’re Zabastian!” she breathed.
Finally! She’d figured it out. For all the good it did her.
His answer was immediate—and frighteningly arrogant. “I can do this.”
Her body had gone rigid, and he heard her gasp as a set of headlights cut toward them on the narrow street. Luke wanted to close his eyes as the two cars practically locked chrome while they passed within inches of each other.
But closing his eyes wasn’t going to make the nightmare go away. This wasn’t a dream. He really was trapped inside his own body, forced to take a figurative backseat while a man who knew nothing about the twenty-first century tried to control a powerful sports car.
It’s not like driving an ox-drawn wagon, he inwardly muttered.
Apparently that was exactly the wrong thing to say. He’d dared to ridicule the warrior. And Zabastian was too proud to back down.
oOo
Instead of turning over the car to Luke, the warrior kept driving, picking up speed as he went.
The streets of the inner city residential neighborhood were lined with typical Baltimore row houses—interspersed with the restaurants, small markets and coffee shops that were the hallmark of the Greek neighborhood. It was still early in the evening, and the sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians.
A couple of people started to step into the crosswalk, then jumped back as the Honda barreled toward them like a maddened rhino.
Beside him, Olivia held tight to the edge of her seat, her knuckles bloodless. She looked like she wanted to jump out of the car, but they were going too fast for that.
The vehicle turned the corner, then headed for the warehouse district near Fells Point.
Luke breathed out a sigh. At least they wouldn’t be mowing down any people here.