Highland Shifter

by Catherine Bybee

  “’Tis easier to think with a clear head.”

  “Yeah, well, mine ain’t clear, kilt boy, mine is full of whys, what ifs, and how comes. Not to mention a heavy dose of ‘that sonofabitch’.”

  Simon took her hand and led her to the kitchen. “Why don’t you make some coffee, or tea.”

  “You’re thirsty?”

  No, he was trying to calm her down. Giving her a task was the only way he knew to do it.

  “Please.”

  Helen grunted and swung away. As she stomped around the kitchen preparing coffee, Simon eased his way over to the front door and inspected the lock. There didn’t seem to be any forced entry. “What is your boss’s name?”

  “Philip Lyons.”

  Mr. Lyons knew how to pick a lock. Wonder where he acquired that skill? “Are you sure he doesn’t have a key?”

  “Positive.”

  Simon walked around the room, attempting to catch the man’s scent. If Helen knew about Simon’s other skills, he’d have shifted into a wolf and heightened his senses. Glancing her way, he noticed how she shoved the coffee grounds into the maker, agitated. This probably wasn’t the best time to reveal his many talents. He was able to distinguish the smell of the man’s soap, or maybe it was cologne. Either way, the scent didn’t belong to Helen.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Checking to see if anything looks out of place.”

  Helen finished her task all too soon and stepped to his side.

  Philip’s scent was stronger in Helen’s room, especially around her dresser drawers. “Do you keep valuables in here?” he asked reaching for the first drawer to pull open.

  Helen’s hand stopped him. “No, just my underwear.”

  And from the tug of her hand, she didn’t want him searching farther. A corner of his mouth lifted, and Helen seemed to forget about the drama of having her boss in her home, long enough to blush.

  “You search here. I’ll look in the bathroom.”

  Helen nodded and waited for him to turn his back before pulling the drawer open.

  Simon looked around the bathroom. He could smell the other man but couldn’t tell where he lingered.

  “I don’t see anything missing.”

  They searched the entire place and found nothing. Why would a man search a woman’s apartment and take nothing? A sick thought penetrated Simon’s mind. “Is it possible your boss has feelings for you?”

  “Feelings? What do you mean?”

  “Care for you? Has Philip ever shown interest in you as a woman?”

  She opened her mouth to deliver what Simon thought was going to be an instant denial, than snapped it shut. “Eweh, are you thinking that he wants—?”

  “He does desire you.”

  “No, I mean in a sick way?” She shook her head and her face grew pale. “I’m good at picking out perverts, and Philip didn’t strike me as one.”

  Simon met her troubled gaze. “But he was here when he knew you weren’t, searching through your things.”

  “We don’t know if he was in my things.”

  Yes, Simon did. He could smell him nearly everywhere. “I see this two ways. He was either here for some sort of perversion...”

  Helen cringed.

  “...or he was searching for something and didn’t find it. I don’t like either option.”

  “I don’t accept either option,” Helen denied.

  “Do you have another?”

  She paused, and glanced at the ceiling. “There has to be something we’re missing.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Better than most, I guess. He seems to do okay for himself. Single. Doesn’t date much that I’ve seen.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  Helen nodded. “He had a Christmas party last year.”

  Simon stood and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Know your enemy and you will determine what motivates him.”

  “Philip isn’t my enemy,” she denied. Then after a few seconds, the strange stoic smile she’d been wearing fell.

  “Today he crossed the line. Today he became your enemy.” Simon grabbed her hand. “C’mon.”

  Chapter Nine

  The trip to Philip’s house was a waste of time. He wasn’t there. She’d racked her brain trying to figure out what he’d been looking for. She didn’t have anything he’d need. The whole thing stunk.

  “He thinks you’re in Scotland?”

  “Yeah.” Helen and Simon were sitting in her car across the street from Philip’s empty house.

  “Are you supposed to check in with him while you’re gone?”

  “I told him I would in a few days. Nothing’s scheduled.”

  “Then a call is in order. He might say something in your conversation that enlightens us to his reasons for his deception.”

  Could she do that? Talk casually to a man who’d violated her privacy only hours before? “I don’t know.”

  Simon shrugged. “Or I could talk with him.” Simon clenched his hands into fists.

  “Back off, he-man. Clocking my boss probably won’t give us any answers either.”

  “But I like clocking my enemies. To tell you the truth, I miss it.”

  Helen couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to his well-formed biceps. I’ll bet you do. “I’ll call first. If we run into him breaking in again, I’ll help you pound him. But let’s try this with a little less violence.”

  Back in her apartment, Helen used a call blocking number and dialed the office. Lisa, the secretary, answered on the second ring.

  “It’s Helen,” she offered as casually as she could. “Is Philip in?”

  “Hey, Helen, how’s Scotland?”

  Helen glanced around the walls of her apartment. “Beautiful. You should come sometime.”

  “It’s on my bucket list. How about the guys? Any of them wearing kilts?”

  Licking her lips, Helen glanced at Simon and remembered the way his legs grasped hold of his horse’s back and the way his thighs flexed under his plaid. At the time, she hadn’t thought of much other than getting away from the maniacs attacking them, but now with the threat behind them—as in 500 years behind them—it was easy to picture Simon in a kilt. “Yeah.”

  “Ohhh, that sounds like an awfully breathy ‘yeah’, Helen. Who is he?”

  “Who is who?”

  “He? The kilt wearing he?”

  Helen shook her head out of the fog and closed her eyes. “No one. Is Philip there or not?”

  “Wow, talk about sensitive.”

  “Lisa?”

  “No, Philip already left. He should be there tomorrow.”

  Already left? Tomorrow? “What are you talking about?”

  “Philip. He’s on his way to Scotland. Didn’t he tell you?”

  None of this made sense. “Must have slipped his mind.”

  Lisa paused. “Is he surprising you? Hey, you two aren’t—”

  “No!”

  Simon’s gaze jolted toward her with the outburst.

  “No. Philip and I aren’t anything.” And because she had nothing to hide with her confusion, Helen added. “I don’t have a clue as to why he’s coming. Did he say anything to you?”

  “Nothing more than the usual.”

  Deciding there wasn’t any more information to gain, Helen ended the call.

  “Philip is en route to Scotland.”

  “To join you?”

  “We didn’t discuss him going.”

  Simon rubbed the side of his face and the small amount of facial hair he had on his chin and lip. Funny, Helen hadn’t thought much of the goatee until Simon stroked his fingers over it. “He may think whatever he searched for here is there with you.”

  “With me? My camera? My clothes?”

  “There must be something.”

  Helen ran her hand on the back of her neck and rubbed the ache. Her hand caught on her necklace and she found herself playin
g with the pendent.

  The same necklace worn by the woman in the book.

  “Wait.” Her fingertips buzzed and popped with discovery.

  “What is it, lass?”

  Helen glanced at her chest. She reached behind her neck and attempted to undo the clasp on the necklace. It wouldn’t give. “Help me with this.”

  Simon stepped behind her, his body close enough to hers she could feel the heat off his frame. His breath brushed over the nape of her neck as his fingers played with the chain.

  “I don’t see a latch.”

  Helen tugged her hair in her hands to give him a better view. “It’s a screw thingy.”

  Simon tugged on the chain.

  “Don’t break it.”

  “I’m not. There isn’t a latch.”

  Helen reached around her neck and felt around. All she touched was a chain. She wiggled the pendent until she could see the back.

  Nothing. It was as if someone placed the necklace around her neck and welded it together.

  It suddenly felt like a noose, something that had to come off.

  She grasped two ends and pulled.

  “You’ll break it that way.”

  “I don’t care. There was a clasp and now it’s gone.” Helen didn’t like the fear lodged in the back of her throat. She pulled harder. All she gained for her effort as a nicked finger. “Dammit.”

  Simon covered her hand with his, stopping her frantic tugging. “What has you so worried, love?”

  “This darn necklace.” She tugged again. “It started this whole.” Pull. “Damn.” Tug. “Thing!”

  Nothing. It wouldn’t budge.

  Simon grasped her hands in his and held them tight.

  Helen tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go. He stepped closer and captured her gaze. His stare dove deep inside her mind until all she noticed was his amazing blue eyes. Thoughts of the necklace faded.

  God he was gorgeous. He had this cocky little smirk with a hint of a dimple showing over his right cheek. He screamed control. Even in the most impossible conditions, Simon held a quiet calm Helen never felt, telling her everything was fine.

  Well, it wasn’t fine. Far from fine!

  He stood so close she could smell the masculine scent of his skin mixed with a musk that drifted with him all the way from the sixteenth century.

  It unnerved her. Made her itch in places she didn’t want to.

  Somewhere Simon McAllister stopped being a teenage kid and became this kilted hunk of a man who scrambled every nerve in her body and then some.

  A man whose fingers grazed over hers and made her loosen her grip on the necklace around her neck.

  A man who stepped even farther into her personal space than she’d thought she wanted.

  A man who dropped her hands, spread his own over the nape of her neck, and held her in waiting.

  Helen’s heart knocked hard against her ribs, pounded even harder as Simon dipped his head closer and brushed his full, soft lips against hers.

  She gasped with the kind of sound born in soap operas and melodramas. She didn’t mean to, it just happened. With the noise, she moved closer and felt her tingling body melt into his.

  The closed mouth kiss only stayed that way for a minute, probably less, and then Helen felt Simon tilt her head even farther back and her lips opened at his command.

  Simon was everywhere, instantly. His body, from knees to head, leaned into her. His tongue swam into the cavern of her mouth as if being welcomed home after a long journey. The sweet taste of his lips on hers forced thoughts of necklaces and time travel far, far away.

  Helen unclenched her fingers, which had grabbed handfuls of his shirt, and spread them wide over his firm chest. It was then she realized just how hard he was—everywhere.

  She stiffened and Simon retreated.

  “I’m sorry.” The words escaped her lips before she could filter them.

  “Sorry? Love, you have no reason to be sorry.” Although Simon was no longer kissing her, he hadn’t stepped out of her arms.

  A hot rush of heat fanned over her face. God, what was wrong with her? A desirable man held her in his arms, kissing her in an extremely sensual manner, and she froze and pushed him away. Memories of her last foster dad swam in her head. Simon was nothing like him so why was she so locked up? She opened her mouth to offer an excuse.

  I don’t think about you that way. But she did! Had thought of nothing but him since they’d met.

  You’re not my type. What was her type? Lord, if it wasn’t a strong, built, in control man, then what was?

  I’m not ready. Okay, she could work with this.

  “I’m not ready to be kissing you. I know there’s this crazy chemistry going on here, but I’m not ready.” Oh, no, did she have to mention their chemistry?

  Simon lifted her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. “I never had the opportunity to take chemistry.”

  Helen chuckled and felt the tension of the moment pass. “It was boring. You didn’t miss much.”

  “Mayhap you’ll instruct me on what I’ve missed.”

  She smiled. “Mayhap.” Oh, boy…who says mayhap? Sixteenth century men from Scotland, that’s who.

  Simon stepped away, but not far. “Tell me about the necklace.”

  Right! The necklace that wouldn’t come free of her neck. “I found it in a pawn shop. It isn’t valuable. I checked.”

  Simon was swinging the pendent around her neck and taking a closer look. His fingers were warm on her skin…comfortable.

  “What is this stone in the middle?”

  “I’ve no idea. A rock, maybe? The metal encasing it is old. I had it radiocarbon dated.”

  “Carbon dated?”

  “Sorry. I guess chemistry has its purpose. When we try to date an antique that isn’t easily placed in a specific time, carbon dating is a process used to determine the year it’s made. Any material that has the compound of carbon can be dated back over 60,000 years. Carbon really refers to skin, bone, teeth. Metals are different, more difficult to date. They use a radiocarbon dating system, but it isn’t as accurate as dating completely carbon based products. In this case, I asked the lab to use uranium dating. There are traces of lead in the chain. And surprisingly, carbon was found, too.”

  “What is the source of the carbon?”

  “Human tissue. Which is kind of gross when you think of it. My guess is the person who made it scraped their skin, bled on it, or something.”

  Simon’s thumb traced the stone, his expression shifted.

  “When did it date back to, Helen?”

  The serious tone in his voice removed all the lingering hormones swimming in her body.

  “The dating wasn’t exact.”

  “When?”

  “Early seventeenth century. Maybe before.”

  “You said this necklace started it all. What did you mean by that?”

  Helen stood back and Simon’s hand dropped to his side. “After I found the necklace I came across the candlesticks. Then your picture. Then the book.”

  “The book?”

  “The one with your picture. I told you about the woman in it.”

  Simon sent her a questioning look. “You told me of the woman, but not the necklace.”

  “I didn’t? I thought for sure I did.” Could she have forgotten that detail? “The woman in the book was wearing this necklace. Or one exactly like it.”

  Simon’s jaw dropped. “’Tis a very important detail.”

  “I thought I told you.”

  “You didn’t, I assure you.” He moved over to the books piled into the boxes by the door. One at a time, he removed the books and arraigned them in the middle of the floor.

  “Did you think of something?”

  “Aye.”

  He moved the books using the acronym method they’d come up with the night before.

  H.E.L.E.N. Soon Simon moved the books and found the word “necklace.”

  “Helen necklace,” she whispered
. She found a massive tome titled “Sorcerer” and made her name possessive. “Helen’s necklace.”

  There were eight books left. T.E.K.H.I.E.S.Y.

  “His? These? Tie?”

  “Tie Helen’s necklace?” Simon said aloud.

  Kneeling beside him, Helen moved books around.

  “We need a verb.”

  “Impossible. Sainthood. Is. Helen’s necklace is.”

  Simon shoved the books back and forth as a thought struck. When he was done, they both smiled.

  “Helen’s necklace is the key.”

  “I believe we found what we were looking for.”

  The weight of the pendent on her neck felt heavy and warm. “You think the necklace moved me in time?”

  “If not, then what?”

  She tugged on it, wanting it off. If it moved her though time once, it could do it again.

  “Get if off.” She batted it with her hands, pulled and attempted to break it free. But the chain was thick and unrelenting. She’d loved the heavy chain the first time she put it on. Not anymore.

  “Calm down.” Simon attempted to grab her hands, but she moved away.

  “It needs to come off.”

  “Relax, Helen.”

  “Relax? Easy for you to say. The thing isn’t fused to you.”

  “If the Ancients wanted it anywhere but around your neck, you’d be able to remove it easily. Don’t fight with it.”

  Simon and his Ancients, those spiritual beings he credited for everything that happened. She didn’t lend much belief in spirits.

  Helen stopped pulling and walked briskly to the junk drawer in her kitchen. There she found a pair of pliers and moved them to the chain.

  “Halt!” Simon yelled his voice stopped her instantly. “You may be destroying my only chance to return home.”

  The pliers fell from her hand, hit the counter, and then tumbled to the floor. He was right. Her own insecurities and fears were making her rush to action. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Her hands shook with the force of her fear.

  “We’ll figure out what makes the necklace work. Together.”

  “But what if I wake up in your time and you’re here?”

  “You won’t.” Simon’s hands rested on her shoulders.