by Livia Quinn
Dylan said, “What?”
“Nothing. I didn’t even get a chance to plead my case with him.”
“Yeah, he’s bad about leaving in the middle of a conversation.”
Jack said, “Wait here while I check out the situation with Montana and Rafe.”
Jack walked toward the ambulance. Peggy had called when he was leaving Aurora’s and explained that Montana’s partner, Rafe had called in the 911. He’d requested that Jack personally respond to their ‘distress.’ Peggy told him they were on post in the ambulance but when he asked, ‘Where’s the scene?’ she’d chuckled on the other end and responded, ‘They aren’t at a scene, Sheriff. They are the scene.’
He told her to give Rafe an ETA of five minutes. A few minutes later he’d pulled into the truck stop. Rafe waved at him and then he’d caught sight of the Knight standing by the food truck. At first, he didn’t see Montana. His gaze had gone from the ambulance to the Knight and back again. There. Montana’s head bobbed up into view and disappeared, in the vicinity of Rafe’s lap.
Okay… he imagined things could get pretty boring sitting in an ambulance for hours on end. He looked back at Flambé. What was his problem? He’d watched for another minute and realized that the warrior was watching for Montana. Each time her hair rose to the level of the window ledge, Conor stiffened, and those blades seemed to vibrate. Curious.
He’d decided he might as well take the bull by the horns, or the Knight by the swords, so to speak and find out what he was about. It hadn’t worked out that way, but he’d come away with his head, so he counted that a step forward.
After the Knight disappeared around the corner of the building, Jack approached the ambulance. “Rafe, what seems to be the problem.”
A muffled voice said, “Opn vhdmrrr!” Rafe grinned at Jack.
Jack stuck his head in through the window to find Montana’s head of thick black hair spilling over Rafe’s lap. “Nice to see you again, Montana.”
“Phup ru shrwf.”
Rafe and Jack laughed, then Rafe yelped. “Damn it, Montana. That hurt.”
She let him know how much she cared by searching the floor with her right hand and picking up a huge needle and aiming it in his direction.
“Hrgrrfne”.
“We’re working on it, Darlin’,” Rafe said. Eyes flaring with pain he mouthed ‘help’ at Jack.
“I’ve never been called to perform a blow—”
“Bzsntwyuuthk.” More jibberish from Montana. Rafe translated, “It’s not what you think.” Again, he smirked. Regardless of the blood, pain or discomfort, he was enjoying himself.
“Okay, what’s the exact nature of the problem, here? I need to see the… uh… landscape a little better.” He pulled a flashlight from his belt, “Do you mind?”
“Whatever, man,” Rafe gritted through his teeth.
“Hrrrhy,” Montana growled.
Jack carefully moved Montana’s hair aside to see what had her locked in the indelicate position. He was shocked to see so much blood on Rafe’s pants and on the side of Montana’s cheek. She couldn’t seem to move her face from Rafe’s groin. “I can’t see the wound, but that must hurt.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Rafe muttered. “Her hair is trapped somewhere. I can’t see to get it out of my zipper and I’m not crazy about getting my privates zipped along with it. She wanted me to just pull her hair out, but I told her I’d call you before I’d snatch her hair from her scalp.”
“Itdushh dt,” Montana grunted again, using her head to punctuate.
“Oww. Damn it, Montana, hold still.”
Her hand rose to her scalp, but Rafe managed to get his fingers over hers to keep her from following through. “You’ll be loose soon.” Another fierce mumble came from his lap, and Rafe grit his teeth. Jack winced. “I tried to get my knife in the glove compartment, but I couldn’t move in either direction. And Montana can only see one thing.”
“Roger that,” Jack grinned.
Shining the light around Rafe and Montana, Jack found the problem. In addition to the hair stuck in Rafe’s zipper, a chunk of the thick mass had spilled between a worn place in the leather and latched onto a spring under Rafe’s seat. She was locked into position. “I found it. Do you want me to try to get it loose—”
“Chtut!”
“She said—” Jack didn’t need an interpreter. He cut the hair loose from the seat, giving Montana some freedom of movement but not enough. Rafe eyed his zipper where Montana’s hair remained caught.
Jack held up his knife. “Do you want me to…?” Jack asked.
“Not unless it’s really an emergency,” Rafe said. “Give me the knife.” Jack aimed the light for Rafe as he worked at the zipper, while she sent out muffled snarls that caused shivers to run down Jack’s spine.
A hand dropped on Jack’s shoulder and Dylan poked his head through the window next to Jack’s. “Whatup, Rafe? Yow. Now that’s what I call out of service.” He laughed.
Rafe gave Dylan a hard look, then asked Jack. “Is he on something?”
Jack gave a quick shake of his head. “Ignore him.”
Rafe nodded, “Hold still, Montana. I’m going to have to cut your hair out of my zipper.”
“Gr-phrt…” came the retort.
Ever the gentleman, Jack turned, tugging a complaining Dylan out of the window. “I wanted to watch.” Jack pushed Dylan ahead of him toward the car.
“Thank the gods and Sheriff Lang,” Montana said behind him.
Jack called out, “Glad I could help.”
He heard a door open and turned. Montana was standing next to him. Damn, she was quiet, and fast.
“Thank you, Jack. I mean it. I appreciate you coming…” she grinned. “I mean, tending to this personally. I was very close to his femoral. ”
“Yeah, right, whatever you say, Montana.” She wasn’t joking. “Uh, so that’s what you meant when you said you had the feeding thing taken care of?”
“Yes, it was supposed to be a simple blood donation. Rafe has helped me out before—”
“I’ll bet—” Jack grinned.
Montana rolled her eyes. “Men. It’s not like I suck him dry. He reaps some benefits from it.”
Jack threw up his hands. “I don’t need details… but you should find a washcloth.” He winced.
Her grin died when he said, “The Dark Knight was here when we drove up. If I had to guess, he wasn’t in on your relationship with Rafe. He didn’t seem to be getting the big picture.”
Her lips thinned and black brows angled down over those cobalt eyes. She nodded thoughtfully.
Dylan walked up, grinning at Montana. “So, you and the Knight, eh?” He rubbed his fingers on both sides of his mouth and teased,” You probably want to wipe that blood off your mouth before you go lookin’ for ‘Conor’. He frowned at her, scratching his jaw. “Don’t you find him a bit… terrifying?”
Montana’s head angled bit as she smiled at Dylan, her macabre face at odds with her words, “Oh, I don’t know. I think he’s kinda cute.” Turning back to Jack, she said, “We’ve got to get cleaned up, and then we’re out of here. Thanks, again.”
“Cute…” Dylan muttered as he got into Jack’s cruiser. “Maybe she hasn’t seen what I’ve seen.”
Jack thought, And maybe you were hallucinating. He offered to take Dylan back to this truck. When they got there, Jack discovered it was simply out of gas. He asked Dylan, because he couldn’t conceive of the perpetually prepared PI letting that happen, “Have you ever run out of gas in your life, McGuinness?”
Dylan scratched his jaw, where the swamp muck had dried and crusted. “Once. December 7, 1941. And it wasn’t my car. I didn’t know the gas gauge wasn’t working.”
Yep, Jack thought. Blame it on the Para-moon.
Chapter 17
Montana wasn’t sure what to think. Conor had been at their post, which meant he was looking for her. When he’d left that morning he’d been a man of few words. Few words!
No words. It was hard to think of a thousands year old Knight as timorous. Especially, not a dragon. Not the dragon she’d met at the scene on Saturday. He’d been arrogant, swaggering, powerful—she shivered just thinking of how he’d looked. She couldn’t wait to see him again in his dragon skin. She must talk him into giving her a ride. She smiled. In the sky.
She identified what she was feeling even though it was completely foreign. She was worried, not insecure exactly, but like a teenage girl with her first boyfriend; Montana was worrying whether she’d messed up. If he was even now making assumptions about her relationship with Rafe, and questioning who had her affections.
Had there ever been a time when she was worried about what a man thought or felt? About her affections? It was nearly impossible for someone of her nature and position to give her trust to a male of any species. She supposed Jack Lang had been the only non-Paramortal to gain her respect, and that had been only recently. She answered her own question with a resounding Never.
Maybe it was because with other males she’d always had to fear they wanted to take control, to overpower her, to compete with her once they knew her agenda. Or they would feel affronted because her prime objective was aimed at their gender. But Conor knew her power was dwindling, and instead of taking advantage he’d offered to help her compensate.
She’d never met anyone bigger or badder than him, and yet he didn’t try to wield his power over the weak—he was, like his name, a man of honor. She needed to find him and explain about Rafe, so he’d understand, and to keep him from, as Tempe would say, “lopping off her partner’s head” due to a misunderstanding.
Where would a visiting dragon Knight go to sulk? She didn’t have a clue. Destiny had no mountains where he could perch and brood. No willing virgins—just wait, that would change, but hopefully they wouldn’t be sacrificing themselves as dragon food like ancient texts suggested because she’d have to fight him in that case. Maybe the best Scotch whisky in town would lure him.
Every time Montana pushed through the swinging doors at Bon Amis she felt like the bad gunslinger from her favorite movie. Liam set a glass of beer in front of her, gave her an odd look, and asked, “Did ye hear about the new lass in town?”
“No, who’s that?” Montana looked around at the main restaurant area and then back at the bar. Bailey was waiting on tables but the restaurant didn’t appear to be too busy, just a few parties ordering food and two customers at the bar sipping their beers.
Liam leaned forward, “Word is… tis Jack Lang’s wife. Least that’s how she tells it.”
“Jack’s divorced. Remember, it was in the news when he ran for sheriff last year.”
“Och, I didn’t pay any attention. So she’s lyin’ is she? Well, it wouldn’t make Fritz any nevermind.” He winked. “Seems he picked her up at the sheriff’s house last night and she spent the night wit’ him. He thinks he’s in love.”
“As Tempe would say, Zeus’ holey boxers! I can’t wait to see what Jack says when he finds that out. We were all hoping she’d left. You know, I told Tempe I didn’t take out women, but I have a feeling when I meet this one, I may change my mind. If she’s bad enough for Fritz…”
Liam nodded. “Yer right as usual, Bran.”
Montana gave him the eye.
“Sorry, lass. We’ve been cousins for too long I guess. It just slipped out.”
Bailey set her tray down on the end of the bar and said, “Cousins?” She cocked her head at Montana. “Girl, you’re having a really bad hair day.” Montana had forgotten about the whack job Rafe had performed but then, it was just hair; it would grow back.
Bailey looked from Liam to her. “I didn’t know you and Liam were related.” Bailey Duplessis, Destiny’s clueless chameleon, leaned against the bar, waiting, oddly attentive. She looked at Liam.
“You need something, dearie?”
“A tourist wants to know what local beers we have.”
Liam tapped the bar to indicate laminated list of beers. “Abita—Turbodog, Purple Haze, Strawberry and S.O.S. Don’t mention the Andygator. I’m thinkin’ I’m out o’ it.”
“So how are y’all related?”
Goddess! It they’d wanted Bailey to focus on something they’d have had no luck. Now she suddenly had laser sights? “We had the same, er, uncle,” Montana said and Liam crossed his eyes at her above Bailey’s shoulder.
Bailey’s eyebrows wrinkled and she pursed her lips. “So, that would mean…”
“That we had the same uncle,” Montana gritted through her teeth.
She brightened, “Right. Okay.” She turned and walked back to her customers.
Liam raised a brow, “Do ‘ya think she’ll drop it?”
“I think it’s already forgotten, Liam. You know Bailey. Very short attention span.”
Montana looked around, “Have you seen Katerina?”
“I hav’no,” Liam said. “Even though it’s overcast and she would normally come around.” Katerina had told them when she moved to Destiny that she absolutely could not get out in bright sunlight because her eyes had been damaged and were extremely sensitive, even with the dark sunglasses she wore around the clock.
Montana said, “She must have had extra work to do. Maybe I’ll swing by her place later and see how she’s faring.”
“I wonder what happened to her,” Liam said, grabbing a bar towel from the shelf below the bar.
“We’d all like to know. She gets pretty antsy around law enforcement types. I was wondering…”
Bailey placed her tray on the end of the bar in front of Liam. “So, if you two have the same uncle…”
Liam’s eyebrows arrowed up and he grinned at Montana as Bailey tried again. “That means your mother…”
“Bailey. Drop it,” Montana growled.
Bailey shrugged, “Sheesh, why so touchy?” Montana rose and she said quickly, “It’s dropped okay. Everybody is acting so weird. I think I’ll try to find my cowboy.” Montana relaxed.
“Hey, Montana,” one of Liam’s regulars at a nearby table called out. “I heard you had a run in with the county badge this morning. Did you pull out your six guns?”
Montana turned to face the man and said, “Who needs guns.” Faster than anyone could blink, her hands held two XL tools of her trade. “I’ve got needles!”
Everyone laughed and some winced at the sight of those monster syringes. “Holy stickers, Bat-woman, what do you use those for?” he asked.
“Props.” She snickered. “I just happened to have them with me. Liam asked for a couple. Here, Liam.”
“Thanks.” Liam accepted the syringes and to the burley man he called, “For shooting up my turducken.” The sound of the front doors swinging open was followed by total silence and Liam’s, “Who the ba-larney blazes is that?”
Chapter 18
Liam’s jaw dropped as he reached behind the bar for his bat.
Montana turned. Filling up the entire doorway with his hulking form, taking in each patron as if to assure himself they were no threat—what a laugh—was Conor in full Knight attire. Montana swore. “You’d think he’d know better than to walk around with those big honking swords on his back. He could cause a panic.” Several of Liam’s customers suddenly realized they’d forgotten the church picnic or the trip to the grocery store and stampeded out the back door.
“You know this mon?” Liam asked, eyebrows raised at Montana.
Montana turned to what was left of the Sunday crowd, “Don’t mind my little brother, folks. He just got his Mardi Gras costume, and I haven’t been able to get him out of it.”
Conor’s eyebrow rose as she marched over to him, hooked her arm through his and dragged him to the bar, realizing immediately that if he hadn’t wanted to follow her, he would have been impossible to budge. “Sit,” she ordered.
His eyes flared and she saw a bit of dragon in the angle of his head. Hmm, had she gone too far? Then one side of his beautiful lips kicked up, followed by the other until his eyes were alight
with humor. Probably hadn’t had anyone boss him around in a century or two. She sighed.
“Liam, this is Conor.” She pointed from one to the other, “Conor, Liam.”
“Those are real swords,” Liam pointed out, as if it were a secret.
Conor, ever the verbose chatterbox, said, “Aye.”
Montana shot Liam a look but it took him several long seconds to obey, finally busying himself with wiping the counters down and washing glasses, the noise of the water running and clank of dishes allowing Montana to ask her questions. Not that there were many customers around to hear. Most had “escaped with their lives” she was sure she’d read in the Tribune come morning. Or more like escaped with their limes, knowing Jane.
Conor had attempted to sit on a bar stool across from Montana, but between his size and the swords, it was impossible and he had opted for leaning casually, or as casually as a deadly swordsman-cum-dragon could lean on the bar of a small town watering hole. “This tavern is popular?” he asked looking around.
“It was until you got here. Besides, it’s Sunday. Business doesn’t—what are you doing here?”
Conor’s eyes widened whether at her daring to ask such a question or in surprise because by gads, he deserved a drink with the best o’ them. As if to make that point, he reached into a hidden pocket and produced a coin, slapping it on the counter in front of Liam with one massive bronze hand. “I’ll have a taste of your best, mon, if you please.”
Montana corrected, “Liam.”
A hint of a smile crinkled the edges of his golden eyes, and he looked over at the bartender, “Tapadh leat, Liam.” Liam nodded in return. Back to Montana, Conor’s brow lifted, Satisfied? Liam was taking a closer look at the coin Conor’d given him, biting it with his teeth, then he winked at Montana.
“I asked what you are doing here. I didn’t mean at Bon Amis. Why are you in Destiny?” Montana’s hands had made it to her hips. It was the pose she struck when she was set on getting answers. Unfortunately, she didn’t—deep, down—believe this dragon could be coerced into doing anything he wasn’t of a mind to do. Dragons were notoriously stubborn. Or so she’d heard.