“Ah, but I’ve seen you two sneaking around the site for months, hooking up whenever and wherever you could,” Dunn supplied, then smiled. “At least, that’s what I’ll tell everyone. Then, when he stumbled upon you in my arms, he flew into a rage and killed you. If it hadn’t been for Lionel’s intervention, he would have killed me, too. Lionel will be a hero.” Dunn placed his hand over his heart. “And I’ll mourn the love that I’ve lost.”
Cole frowned. Their story had more holes in it than a fishing net. “I’m not quite sure what’s more ludicrous—that you actually came up with that rubbish, or that you think people will believe you and Melanie had a relationship?”
Dunn’s face grew a mottled red. “You sonovabitch. I’ve half a mind to waste you right here.”
Cole smirked. “Well, you got the half a mind part right.” If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to do it quaking in his boots in front of this little turd.
“Hey, ahoy the boat,” a deep voice hailed from the pontoon, and they all jerked around at the sound as a dark figure clomped along the pontoon.
Chapter 18
Cole reacted instantly. He shoved the gun out of his face and followed through with a vicious right swing, his fist connecting with Dunn’s cheek. The man bellowed, and tried to bring the weapon around again, but Cole launched at him, ramming him back against the railing.
His focus was on disarming Dunn, but he could hear the scuffle behind him. He glanced over his shoulder briefly in time to see Melanie kick Lowry’s gun-toting arm away from her and angle her leg up to flick a kick against the side of the man’s head.
Dunn tried to ram his fist into his gut, but Cole managed to twist so that he got a thump in the side, deflected and lacking in intensity.
“Hey, is everything all right up there?” the voice came again from below, and the boat lurched as someone grabbed the deck ladder and started to climb aboard.
Dunn brought the gun up, and Cole grabbed his wrist, pushing it away from his face and trying to wrest it out of the man’s hand.
Behind him Lionel bellowed, but Cole couldn’t spare a glance as he tried to stop Dunn from putting a bullet in him. The man was gritting his teeth, sweat dripping down the side of his face as he fought with a panicked ferocity over the gun. Cole was bigger and stronger and just as mean, and he twisted the wrist he held, grunting in satisfaction when he felt the snap of bone and heard the keen of pain from his adversary. He followed through with a jab to his face, and more bone cracked as his nose crumpled under the force of the blow.
The gun clattered to the deck and Dunn collapsed, blood streaming from his shattered nose, alternating between clutching his broken wrist to his chest and covering his face as he howled like a wounded wolf cub.
Cole scooped up the weapon and turned as Gabe climbed on board. The site supervisor immediately put his hands above his head when he saw Cole and the gun.
“Don’t shoot,” Gabe said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m unarmed.”
Cole wasn’t sure why the hell Gabe was on Lowry’s boat—was he friend or foe? He kept the gun trained on the large hulk of a man and glanced over his shoulder in time to see Lowry lurch toward Melanie again, raising his gun to strike her with it. She caught his fist in the downward motion. There was a blast that shocked everyone as the weapon fired, and Cole ducked as he moved toward her.
Melanie, still clutching the hand and the gun, swivelled and stepped in closer to Lowry’s body, continuing the downward motion of his strike. Lowry yelled in surprise as he was neatly flipped over her hips and thrown to the deck. Hard. Melanie took a step back and shifted her weight, her movements smooth and fluid, and Lionel screamed in pain as his thumb and wrist were twisted in what Cole was beginning to suspect was Melanie’s trademark hold. Even from this distance, he heard the bone crack.
Melanie tugged the weapon out of Lowry’s now-limp hand. “That was for Dad,” she said casually. She straightened, not taking her eye off the prone man.
“You bitch,” he spat at her.
Melanie gave him a little smile, and kicked him hard in the groin. “And that’s for Mum,” she said sweetly, as Lowry yowled, clutching his manhood with his good hand.
Cole grimaced. Ouch. “You’re under arrest,” he said, waving the gun between Dunn and Lowry. “For….oh, for loads of stuff that I’ve still got to figure out. But we’ll start with assault, possession and use of a prohibited firearm, abduction, deprivation of liberty, and we’ll take it from there. You have the right to remain silent.” He eyed Dunn, who was still crying like a randy cat, and Lowry who was spewing filth at his stepdaughter. “Please…be silent.”
Melanie turned to him, but kept the weapon trained on Lowry, her gaze shocked. “You’re a cop?”
Oh. Damn. He hadn’t planned it to go down this way. “Uh, yeah. Detective Senior Constable Cole Strange, at your service.” He slid his hand into the back pocket of his shorts for his I.D., then remembered he wasn’t wearing his shorts.
“You’re a cop,” she repeated, and her gaze drifted to the two men now whimpering on the deck.
“Mel, I…” he began.
“Ah, damn.” The voice came from behind them.
Cole turned to watch as Gabe stumbled back against the railing, clutching his shoulder. Under the moonlight, Cole could see the wet patch spreading, dark and shiny, across the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Gabe’s eyes wore a dull, shocked expression as his gaze met Cole’s, and the big man collapsed on the deck, his cheek thumping against the surface with a sickening crunch.
“Oh, no, Gabriel,” a soft voice wailed, and light footsteps tapped along the pontoon.
Melanie shifted on the deck, peering into the darkness. She could just make out Esme as she ran, surprisingly spritely for a woman her age, along the pontoon toward the yacht. Randall clambered behind her.
Turning back to the scene on the deck, Melanie surveyed it with a sense of surrealism. I must be hallucinating. Her stomach heaved as the boat pitched under the weight of the elderly couple climbing aboard, despite Colin’s calm instruction to remain on the dock. She glanced down at Lionel, who was glaring up at her with a hate that was almost tangible. Dunn was blubbering, Gabe was out cold and bleeding, and Colin—no, not Colin, Cole, gently rolled the larger man on his back. He stripped out of his shirt and used it as a makeshift compress against the man’s shoulder.
What the hell had just happened? The whole night—the scene in Lionel’s library, then fighting Cole on the boat, the search—oh, God, the ring. She held her hand up and glanced at the dull band of silver she’d slid onto her thumb. Dad. Lionel killed Dad.
She could vaguely hear voices around her, sirens in the distance. People were coming out of their homes—they must have heard the gunshot. Esme twittered over her grand-nephew and Randall came to stand on the other side of Lowry, eyeing the man who’d shot his relative with a hard, menacing stare that was intimidating, despite his age and frailty. The deck rolled under her feet, and she shifted with it, as though her whole world was off-kilter.
A hand grabbed her arm, and she felt anchored. She shuffled, regaining her balance, and gazed up the man who held her. Coli…Cole. He slowly took the gun off her, and unloaded the weapon, pocketing the remaining bullets. He was totally at ease with handling the weapon.
Bare-chested, his skin was cast in silver tones under the weak starlight filtering through the clouds, dark hollows marking where his muscles dipped and swelled. Cole. He was a cop. Not The Village People.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low with concern.
“You’re a cop,” she whispered, and tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Her legs were trembling, and she tried to lock her knees into place. A chill crept over her, despite the humid night air. She’d stood up to her stepfather, kicked his butt, and now she felt like she was going to either pass out or throw up. Oh, and the guy who’d kissed her socks off just happened to be an undercover cop. She pressed trembling fingers to her temple.
&nbs
p; Cole nodded. “I am. I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you.”
“So this,” she gestured carelessly between them, the silver ring catching some of the starlight, “this was all so you could get to Lionel?”
Cole opened his mouth, hesitated. “I will admit it started out that way,” he allowed.
Her stomach pitched. He’d used her to get to her stepfather. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew there had to be some reason for this intense interest.” She’d never been pursued, not like Cole had done. She hadn’t trusted him at first, had suspected there must be an ulterior motive… yet she’d still kissed him, still confided in him, damn it. What was wrong with her?
Footsteps pounded down the dock toward them, and Cole glanced up, then pursed his lips as he looked back at her. “We’re about to be inundated by the boys in blue, but I want you to know, it wasn’t all about Lowry.” His voice was low, his expression earnest as the yacht bobbed under the weight of the law enforcement officers who were descending onto the scene.
Melanie sucked in a breath. Uh-oh. Her stomach roiled. “Get away from me.”
Cole lowered his head so that he could meet her gaze directly. “We need to talk, Mel. When this is all over, you and I are going to talk. This doesn’t end here. I—I care about you.”
She couldn’t help it. All the bobbing, the rocking, the—oh, god, the swaying. She doubled over and threw up.
Chapter 19
Esmerelda smoothed her wings, and tried not to shift. Again. She wriggled her toes in her slippers, the solid parquetry providing a hard yet sympathetic support. She flicked a quick glance over at Rump. The vexatious imp leaned with a casual ease against the wall, apparently quite comfortable with the right royal bollocking they were about to receive. No, not royal, republican, she corrected. The Grand Fairy Coordinator was no longer the Fairy Queen, not since the referendum.
The G.F.C. office was cool, a blessing after the sticky humid air she and Rump had had to endure on their mission. She swallowed. The mission they’d spectacularly failed at. While the outer edges of the chamber were dim, there was enough light streaming through the cathedral windows to catch the sparkles on Matilda’s wings. The far wall sconces remained unlit. Probably to cut costs, Essie thought sourly.
Matilda closed the folder with a quiet, formidable snap, and glanced over the large desk.
“Please explain.” Her words were calm, but Esmerelda could sense the disappointment, the frustration buried there.
“I’m—I’m not sure if I can,” Esmerelda answered, frowning. “Nothing went to plan, at all.”
The G.F.C. arched a delicate eyebrow. “I can see that. Our Frog Prince was injured—fortunately he’ll live. Why don’t we start there? How is it that our Frog Prince took a bullet?”
Esmerelda nodded. “Uh, he turned out to be quite sweet, actually. He made a scene at the home of his employer—the king, for the purpose of our tale,” Esmerelda quickly inserted. “And he, uh, felt it necessary to return and apologise. He just happened to be wounded by said king in the process.”
The G.F.C.’s brow wrinkled, ever so slightly. “What kind of scene?”
Esmerelda blinked. “Pardon?”
“What kind of scene did our Frog Prince cause?”
Oh, fungus. She’d have to own up to the fairy dust doping incident. Fungus, fungus, fungus.
“Actually, G.F.C., we’d all arrived there with the intention of distracting the Interferer and the Princess, and, well,” Rump shrugged, “We succeeding in putting a little distance between them at the time.”
Matilda eyed Rump for a moment, and Esmerelda held her breath. “I see. But obviously, it wasn’t enough. Our Frog Prince has lost his Princess.” The G.F.C. rose from her seat, and drifted over to the windows that looked over Fantasia, the capital city of Fairy Isle. Her scarlet gown swished and swayed with her movement, like the petals of a flower caught in a soft spring breeze.
“This is disastrous.” Matilda folded her arms, and continued to gaze out of the window. “We have a failed Fairy Tale. I can’t remember ever having a failed Fairy Tale.” She turned and fixed them with a steely glare. “Ever.”
Esmerelda shifted. “I’m so sorry, Your Excellency. What happens next?”
The G.F.C. returned to the desk, her expression sombre. “Good question. This…lapse cannot go unpunished. You allowed Fate to step in to a Fairy Tale. We can’t have that. None of those humans learned their lessons. There will be repercussions…” she trailed off as she glanced down at the desk absently. “So many repercussions.”
”Perhaps not,” Rump said softly.
Esmerelda’s eyes widened. Oh, no, no. Don’t nay-say the G.F.C. He’d find himself back in Confinement, in worse conditions than before. She shot him a quick frown, and gave a little shake of her head. Ix-nay on the nay say.
The G.F.C.’s gaze slowly swivelled beyond Esmerelda to Rumpelstiltskin. The temperature dropped considerably within the room. Oh, fungus, is that a breeze? Esmerelda’s wings fluttered, stirring a deep unease. Tendrils of ice cracked across the large panes of glass behind the Grand Fairy Co-ordinator, and her wings started to glow.
“Pardon?” her voice was low, but intense, like a rolling storm, causing the windows to rattle in their frames.
Rump straightened from the wall and strolled over to join Esmerelda. “Maybe things worked out the way they should.”
Their leader stared at him for a moment, then her eyes widened. “You invited Fate to interfere.”
“No!” Esmerelda gasped, and whirled to stare at Rump. “No, I’m sure that’s not the…” Rump met her gaze with equanimity. He wasn’t denying it. Wasn’t even shocked by the accusation.
“I’m sure there must be another explanation, G.F.C.,” Esmerelda said calmly. There’d better be. Otherwise Rump had just tarnished her hard-won reputation, had spoiled her perfect record, had intentionally manipulated her, had lied, deceived and betrayed her—and for what? Fate had no part in a Fairy Tale. If he had—well, if she didn’t wind up in Confinement for her part in it, no matter how unintentional, the very least she’d get would be a probation—wouldn’t that go down with a snigger and a giggle at the next Fairy Council meeting? No, there had to be another explanation.
“Actually, there is,” a deep voice intoned, reverberating through the room like a low rumbling thunder.
Esmerelda glanced around in surprise. Who…?
The double doors to the G.F.C.’s chamber swung inward, and a tall figure strode in. A warm breeze swept into the chamber, heating up Matilda’s chill. The ice on the glass beaded and dissolved, like a sprinkle of rain. Scents of sunshine, of moonlight, of mystery and knowing, swelled around them.
Oh, goblin guts, Esmerelda thought faintly when recognition finally struck.
The tall male walked with a grace and power that were both intimidating and enthralling at the same time. He wore black leather trousers, knee-high leather boots, a white cotton lace shirt, and a flowing blue robe that glittered and shimmered with each step, as though all the stars were captured within its weave. An air of strength and authority surrounded him. His hair was so pale as to be snow white and fell past his shoulders, yet his patrician features were smooth, unlined and arresting. And his eyes—they weren’t a simple shade of a single colour. His irises shimmered and swirled, shades of blue, lavender and silver melding in a constant stream of hues, as though the ribbons of Time itself lived within those eyes. Handsome with a whole lot of sensual danger. Wicked magnetism.
“Father Time,” the G.F.C. greeted the newcomer with reserve.
“Oh, come, come,” he said, a teasing grin splitting his virile features. “You know me better than that, Tilly.”
Esmerelda gaped. He’d called the G.F.C. Tilly. Nobody called her Tilly.
Matilda nodded. “Fate, then. What brings you here? To my domain? Uninvited?”
“Bah, I got tired waiting for your invitation,” he said, waving his hand carelessly.
”But you’re Father Time,
you have all the time in the world,” Matilda said sweetly.
Esmerelda shifted warily. The G.F.C.’s colour was high on her cheeks, and her eyes weren’t twinkling so much as flashing. And Fate? Well, Fate was folding his arms and smiling back with just as much saccharine, and his hair moved as though stirred by a breeze. She’d never understood why Fate wasn’t permitted to participate in the Fairy Tales, it had been a rule for eons that she and the rest of the Fairy Isle simply accepted. Now, though, seeing these two powerful entities in the same room, she could only wonder at the history they shared. And they shared something, that was apparent. The air was charged with an electricity that all but sparked between the two.
“I don’t like to waste Time,” Fate responded.
Matilda placed her hands on her hips. “You interfered, Fate. How could you do that? You broke the rules.”
Esmerelda shot Rump a dark look. Fate wasn’t the only one who had broken trust. Rump winked back at her, totally shameless. Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, and she told herself it was frustration with the imp, that’s all. Even so, her hand drifted down to the tiny bottle at her waist, just to make sure it was still there, just in case. Rump tracked her movement, and his grin broadened.
Blasted imp.
“I broke no rules,” Fate corrected her. “I exerted no power in this Tale.”
“Look what you’ve done, Fate. We have a Frog Prince without a Princess, and a Princess who didn’t learn her lessons.”
Fate leaned a hip against the G.F.C.’s desk. “Well, let’s look at that, shall we?” he said, and Matilda arched an expectant eyebrow.
He held up one long, tanned finger. “Let’s start with the Frog Prince. Our guy underwent a transformation. A dirty construction worker with a questionable moral compass is now an honourable law enforcer.”
Matilda’s eyes narrowed, and Esmerelda pursed her lips. Fate had a point. Fungus.
He held up another finger, and the G.F.C. stared at it for a moment before blinking and forcing her attention back to his face. “Our Princess needed to learn not to judge by appearances, and to keep her promises. She’s now learned that not all dirty construction workers are as they seem, and she delivered on her promises. Dinner, dance and a kiss.”
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