by Chloe Lang
“That’s next week.” Ashley slid her finger to turn on her iPad. “I’ve booked our flights. We’ll be staying at The Ritz.”
“Not the Four Seasons, like we usually do?” Chicago was a frequent stop for her and Ashley. Some work. Mostly play. Always shopping on the Magnificent Mile.
“It’s all booked up. We’re only a few blocks away from our favorite street, Michigan Avenue.”
“Good job.” Once the deposition was done, they would be up to date. In her gut, she knew Rutledge was the key to everything. The case was an oddball one. Braxton Meat Packing was claiming Steele Ranch had sold them hundreds of diseased cattle and given them numerous falsified records. Not possible. She was making a lot of progress on the case, but still had some loose ends to clear up. Hopefully, going to Chicago would help her to finally get to the bottom of the whole thing.
“Phoebe, I need to talk to you,” Jason said, surprising her, coming up behind her like a ghost of the past.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Ash said. “Besides, I need to refill my plate with more of Gretchen’s yummy snacks.” When she got behind Jason, she mouthed tell him about your stalker.
Ash walked toward the buffet table and Jason stepped up in front of her. God, he was one of the most beautiful men she’d ever laid eyes on. Stetson hat. Dreamy blue eyes and long lashes which women would kill for. She’d run her fingers over his square jaw a million times. She missed touching him, holding onto his broad shoulders. She knew firsthand what was underneath his sheriff’s uniform and it was muscled heaven.
Stop it, Phoebe. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“I need to talk to your brother.”
“Which one?” she asked, although she already knew.
“Shane,” he said in his deep, masculine tone that always got her tingling. “I need to change his parole appointment time for tomorrow. Something has come up. Where is he?”
Of course. It was always about Shane. “I’m not his babysitter. He’s a full-grown man who can take care of himself.”
“He’s a felon, Phoebe. I have to do my job. I don’t like this any more than you do.”
That would be impossible. “Really? Seems like you love keeping your thumb on Shane to me.”
The old bitterness crawled up from the recesses of her mind. I can never forgive him. Never. “Anything else, Sheriff Wolfe?”
He sighed. “If you see your brother, I would appreciate it if you would tell him to call me.”
“Fine.” There was no way she was going to tell Jason about the stalker now. She was too angry to say much more. “If that’s all, I want to get a seat for Patrick’s tale about his first dragon sighting.”
“That’s all.” Jason turned and headed out of the room without saying good-bye.
Whatever he, Dylan, and the mysterious woman had been discussing seemed pressing or else he would’ve certainly stayed for Patrick’s story.
She recalled when they were just preteens, sitting together and listening intently to every word about the real green dragon—Jason on one side of her, Mitchell on the other, and Lucas standing behind. Her family and theirs believed they were destined to be together. She’d believed it, too, for a very long time. She might live in Destiny, but she wasn’t sure that kind of love actually existed. At least not for her and the Wolfe brothers.
Ashley came back up. “Did you tell him?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t. Per usual, all we talked about was Shane.”
“Then I’m marching you over to Mitchell or Lucas right now. I will not take no for an answer, boss.”
“If I’m the boss, then why are you the bossiest?”
“I’m worried about this stalker even if you’re not.”
I’m worried, too. “Okay. Where are they?”
“Mitchell is over there by the buffet.”
She turned her attention to the table with all the food. When she saw who Mitchell was talking to, her heart sank.
Kaylyn Anderson. The girl was a knockout. Long blonde hair. Perfect figure. Soft gray eyes. Plus, she was so nice. So freaking nice.
They would make a lovely couple. Mitchell’s six-three frame next to Kaylyn’s five-two added to his dominant presence and Kaylyn’s submissive demeanor. Imagining them together caused Phoebe’s heart to seize in her chest.
How many times have I stared into Mitchell’s unusual eyes? God, she loved them both—the left one blue and the right one brown. He could ensnare her with a single glance. Her mother had told them both, when they were still kids, that the two colors meant Mitchell had amazing gifts—magical even. When they were older, he’d discovered that the brown eye was just a freckle on his iris. Nothing special. But Phoebe knew better. The muscled music man with the coal-black hair was very special. Even magical.
Kaylyn and Mitchell were laughing together, and she felt jealousy well up inside her like a tornado.
Stop it, Phoebe. He’s not yours anymore.
“Boss, you okay?” Ash asked.
“I’m fine.” He’s finally moved on. Isn’t that what I’ve wanted for him? For Lucas and Jason, too? Yes—and hell no.
Ash frowned. “Then what are you waiting for?”
“He’s busy. After Patrick’s story, the band will have to run another set.” She missed sitting in on Mitchell’s jam sessions with Hank, Big Jim, and Nancy. Those were some of her most fond memories. Mitchell loved his music, and so did she. “I can tell him later. Where is Lucas?”
“He’s sitting with Doc and Mick over there.”
Phoebe looked over at Lucas, the middle-born Wolfe brother, and smiled. He was wearing a toga and a fake beard, no doubt portraying one of his favorite architects, Phidias. The Halloween party was the only time Lucas let down his guard and wore something other than a suit and tie in his office, or jeans and a white shirt when he was on site.
“Time to spill the beans about your stalker to him,” Ashley stated flatly. “And what a good-looking man to tell, too. All those Wolfe brothers are gorgeous. I can’t believe you let them go.”
“But I did.” Looking at Lucas was making her heart race. Dark, thick hair that she loved running her fingers through. Six-one and chiseled beautifully from head to toe. His mysterious dark eyes never failed to mesmerize her. At least he’s not talking to some pretty girl. Are you losing your mind? Stop it. “And I will say it again. The topic of me and the Wolfe brothers is off-limits, Ash.”
“Fine. Tomorrow we can pick up where we left off. Right now, I’m taking you over to him.” Ash took her arm and led her to one of the three men Phoebe couldn’t get out of her heart, no matter how hard she tried.
* * * *
Lucas was thrilled to see Phoebe being led by Ashley in his direction. He stood, hoping they would take his seat. All the sofas and chairs were packed. Like always, it was standing room only for Patrick’s story.
Doc and Mick got to their feet, clearly spotting the approaching duo, too.
“Ladies.” Doc gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.”
“We only need to talk to Lucas for a moment,” Ashley said. “Well, Phoebe does.”
“Sit,” Mick ordered in his most Dom tone. “The seats are for the ladies. My brother and I need to refill our drinks anyway. We’ll get a good view of Patrick from the bar.”
Doc nodded, and the two Ryder brothers left.
“That leaves three seats,” Ashley said with a wink. “Phoebe, you sit in the middle. Lucas, you take the right. I’ll take the left.”
“Forgive her, Lucas,” Phoebe said with the sass he’d always loved of hers. “She forgets who is boss and who is assistant.”
“I never forget. I’m in charge. You pay the bills.”
“Everyone, please take your seats. Children gather around.” Ethel’s silver hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her head, perfect for her queen costume. Her blue eyes danced as the seventy-nine-year-old woman smiled down at Destiny’s youngest citizens from the bottom of the staircase. The children sat on
the floor in front of the microphone and stand that Patrick was about to give his annual speech from. “Our Master of Ceremonies will be down in two minutes.”
“More like five.” Leaning on one of the dragon statues in the room, Sam O’Leary, brother to Patrick and Ethel’s other husband, wore his glasses on the end of his nose. He rubbed his bald head—a clear act of drama for the kids to enjoy. Eighty-five years old, Sam was as much Peter Pan as Patrick, who was a year older. “The man loves a grand entrance.”
“Stop it, Sam.” Ethel smiled. “But he’s right. More like five.” She walked back up the stairs.
Ashley sat in the place she’d picked out for herself.
Phoebe shrugged. “Best to let Ash think she’s in charge.” She sat in the middle of the sofa.
Lucas grinned and took the seat next to the woman he loved more than life itself. God, it felt so good to be next to her. Before he could ask her what she needed to talk about, the lights dimmed and mysterious music filled the air.
Fog from hidden machines wafted through the room. Patrick does know how to put on a show.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and distinguished little guests on the floor,” Patrick’s voice came from every corner of the room, a new addition to the annual event and quite an impressive one to boot. “Tonight, I ask you to let your minds drift back to an earlier era when monstrous, glorious creatures roamed the sky, the earth, and the seas. Some say they never were, but I know for a fact that not only did they live long ago on this tiny blue planet—they are still with us, hidden from the nonbelievers, those who refuse to see what is right in front of their faces.”
Lucas loved hearing the old man talk about dragons. Everyone did, even Sam, Patrick’s brother, though he rolled his eyes at every telling.
Lucas looked over at Phoebe. How long had it been since they’d sat in the O’Leary mansion listening to every captivating word from the Dragon Master of Destiny?
“In my lifetime, I have seen two dragons, in the flesh. Yes, two. Five more, I have seen out of the corner of my eye, appearing as apparitions, wisps of their amazing selves.” Patrick emerged at the top of the stairs, wearing his outlandish silver garb and red cape. In one hand was the golden staff he always carried every Halloween and in the other his pipe, allegedly carved from a dragon bone he’d unearthed in an expedition to Peru in the seventies. He looked like a wizard. In Lucas’s mind, ever since he was a child, that’s exactly what Patrick was.
Patrick lifted the staff into the air, another change from previous speeches, and thunder rumbled from the speakers. The kids screamed.
Lucas looked at Phoebe, her eyes as wide as they were the first time they’d come here as children years ago. He grabbed her hand, and she squeezed back. His heart soared.
“My first encounter was when I was a prisoner of the North Koreans. Yes, children, this eighty-six-year-old man was a soldier. I was a fighter pilot. During one intense aerial battle, my plane was hit and went down.” The sound of an explosion filled the air, more of Patrick’s new theatrics.
The crowd applauded their approval.
Patrick never broke character, but Lucas could see a twinkle in the man’s eyes. He descended down the stairs, hitting his staff on every step.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
“With blood in my eyes from the wound I’d received from the crash, I made my way through the darkness to the river I’d spotted when I was still in the air. But fate was a harsh mistress that night. Gunshots riddled the air around me.”
More sound effects amazed everyone. What a show.
“I took a hit to my leg, ending the trek to my escape.” Patrick lifted up his robe revealing the scar of his battle wound, something that had always been part of the speech.
The children gasped.
Continuing to hold his robe up, Patrick walked to the stand with the microphone. Clearly, he didn’t need it since he was wearing a wireless microphone. He’d likely kept the one on the stand so as not to ruin the surprise of the new sound effects.
“That’s real?” Juan asked, staring at Patrick’s scar.
“Shh,” Belle told the orphan, whom everyone knew she loved as if he were her own. The other five boys, early arrivals for the Stone Boys Ranch, sat with them on the floor.
“Belle, it’s fine,” Patrick said. “Come up here, lad.”
Juan leapt to his feet.
When he was right next to Patrick, the old wizard gestured to the wound. “Touch it.”
Juan’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
The boy brought his finger to the scar.
“Yes, it’s real, Juan,” Patrick said. “It still gives this old man trouble on wintery nights to this very day.” Letting go of his robe, he put his arm around the smiling kid. “A round of applause, please, for the very brave Mr. Juan Garcia.”
The crowd roared and Juan smiled from ear to ear. One thing about the O’Learys, they adored children.
Juan returned to the floor, next to Belle.
“Where was I?”
“The bad people were about to take you to the cell,” one little girl, who had clearly heard the story many times, yelled out.
He laughed, as did Phoebe and several other adults.
“That’s right, angel. War is a terrible thing. My enemy had no sympathy for me. I’d taken out many of their brothers, so I understood their cruelty. Several kicks came from their boots and left me broken and without recourse. They took me back to their encampment like a prize turkey for a Thanksgiving meal. Why they let me live, I still don’t know, but they did. I was their prisoner for two hundred and seven days.”
The sound of a grandfather clock striking filled the room.
Gong. Gong. Gong. Gong. Gong. Gong. Gong.
Patrick paused, allowing the effect of the passage of time to creep into everyone’s psyche before continuing on with the story.
“In time, I healed, though the food the enemy gave me wasn’t enough to nourish me back fully. Constant fevers consumed me night after night. I dreamed of escape, but sadly, I had no power to break the bars that held me.”
“Until the black dragon showed up,” the same little girl shouted out.
“Hush, let Mr. O’Leary tell the story, Amy,” her mother told her.
“She’s right though.” Patrick closed his eyes, inhaling from his pipe. The spicy smoke wafted from its bowl in silvery warm circles, up to the ceiling. “The black dragon came to me first in the darkest part of the Korean night. There was no moon. I thought that he was an illusion, brought on by a temperature spike in my body. But he wasn’t. He was real. Very real. You may ask yourself, how does Mr. O’Leary know that?”
“How do you know that, Mr. Patrick?” Jena’s daughter, Kimmie, asked.
Several of the kids nodded that they were wondering, too. He clearly had them under his spell.
“You are right to ask, Kimmie. Many have. Most doubt my account. But none are able to explain how a malnourished man with a bum leg in the middle of a heavily guarded North Korean prison encampment was able to escape without a sound. No one. But I can. I was there.”
“Tell us,” Juan said, his eyes wide. “What did the dragon do?”
“Mr. Garcia, the black dragon saved my life. Did you know that their minds are far superior to ours? Their intelligence is stellar, except the purple dragons’, or so I’ve been told by two of their cousins.”
“They talk?” Juan blinked several times. The boy was hooked, now and forever, just like Lucas and everyone else. Dragon hunting up in the mountains was definitely going to be on the kid’s next outing.
“Yes, Mr. Garcia. Dragons talk, though they find our languages quite rudimentary and coarse. Their language is the most beautiful sound on the planet. Though I understand only a few words, I, like all humans, don’t have the vocal capacity to speak it. But for the first time, ladies and gentlemen and distinguished little guests, I have a recording of a few words from their ancient tongue.”
The crowd gasped.
“Scott, we’re going off script for a moment. I wanted to save this for later, but since the amazing Juan Garcia asked, please fire off number twenty-two.”
“Yes, sir.” Scott Knight’s voice came through the speakers. “One second.”
Everyone held his or her breaths, including Lucas. He looked over at Phoebe, who was doing the same. Hundreds of people were packed in the room but the place was as quiet as a tomb.
Then the most amazing sound came through the speakers. Beautiful and chilling. Clicking tones, high and low, tickled his ears, followed by long, deep rumblings. He closed his eyes and imagined the stirring of a sleeping volcano. Clacks came next, fast and furious. Finally a resounding roar, unlike any lion, tiger, or bear could muster. This came from none other than a dragon. Lucas’s belief was renewed once again.
The crowd rose to their feet, giving Patrick a standing ovation.
“That, my friends, was captured on my expedition last year in Nepal. We stumbled upon a sleeping green dragon. A baby. It still didn’t have its wings. When it stirred, my team vanished out of the cave, leaving me alone with the noble beast.”
“Your official count of seeing dragons in their physical form totals three now, doesn’t it?” Mitchell asked.
“Yes, Mr. Wolfe. It does.”
Another round of applause.
“What about the black dragon?” Juan asked. “What happened?”
“Thank you for getting me back on track, young man.” Patrick smiled. “Scott, we’re back on script.”
“Yes, sir. All set.”
“My first dragon sighting.” Patrick rubbed his chin. “His statue is in the northwest corner of our town’s park. I asked him his name, and he told me. But alas, it is unpronounceable from the human tongue. We talked for several hours. He told me that he’d been watching me since I fell from the sky. I asked him why. He said that my steely determination reminded him of his own hatchlings, all of which had died hundreds of years ago. I call him Father Dragon. He is one of the few black dragons still living in the world. Night after night, he returned to talk to me. My guards slept like the dead, which they’d never done before. I learned later from Father Dragon that he’d flown above, enveloping the air with his breath, which causes humans and animals to fall fast asleep.”