“We aren’t in the past. Besides, my mother understands I’m a grown man.” His expression turned thoughtful, stoic even.
“I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.”
“Do you want me to leave?” His body tensed. His head lifted from the pillow.
Reflexively, her hand gripped his waist. “God, no. I don’t want anything to be weird for you. Lizzy seems like an understanding woman, but she is your mom. It seems like your family is really good at sticking their heads into everyone’s business.”
Simon slid his leg between hers and laid back down. “They care. ’Tis why they watch and comment on everything. Don’t worry over my family.”
Smiling, she snuggled back in his arms.
Simon felt Helen’s body relax. Her arm lay over his hips, his leg tucked between hers. As her breathing evened out, and she succumbed to sleep, his mind was fully awake.
The woman was intoxicating. He lost all sense of direction when he was with her, except when it came to claiming her. As a cat, that need crawled up his back to the tip of his nose.
Having spent many hours of his life in animal form, there were times Simon lost himself in the ambitions of whatever animal form he chose. His sense of smell, sight, or hearing was stronger as a human because of it. He wasn’t joking when he told Helen the animal in him didn’t leave him completely when he shifted back to human form. A couple of years after he began shifting, he noticed the enhanced senses. Those talents molded him into the warrior he was. He could hear his enemy advance, smell their fear. Equally, he could smell the pheromones of a lover spike.
Helen emitted those like none other. Her scent drove him mad. He could also scent fertility much like an animal can with its mate. So why, when he scented Helen’s, did he not bring her to completion with his tongue and dive away? Why couldn’t he stop himself from claiming her with such primal force?
Why did he fill her with his seed knowing damn well the chances of it taking root and bearing his child was high?
Helen moaned in her sleep and dove closer into his embrace.
“I’m here,” he whispered to her sleeping form. I’m here.
* * * *
Philip met Malcolm’s icy stare through the glass. “She disappeared.”
Malcolm grasped the end of the phone with white knuckles. “You’ve searched everywhere?”
Philip nodded, knowing the police recorded every word. Privacy in prisons was non-existent. “My secretary said she called while I was in Scotland, so I waited until I was back in the States to notify the authorities.”
The last thing Philip needed was for the police to think he had anything to do with Helen’s disappearance. The sins of his brother could very well float over to him if he wasn’t careful. A missing woman abroad and the brother of a convicted murderer didn’t bode well for Philip’s freedom. As it was, the authorities had hauled him in for questioning twice. Each time the questioning took on a darker edge.
Of course, there was no evidence of foul play, no family to push an investigation. There were bandages found in Helen’s bathroom trash with blood, but not enough to suggest a mortal wound. Someone in the apartment complex stated that they’d seen Helen after she’d flown to Scotland. She’d been with a large man who didn’t fit Philip’s description. Without anything other than his brother’s crimes to go on, the police hadn’t questioned him further.
Still, the entire ordeal unsettled him. Malcolm and his quest for freedom through Helen was what started this mess. Of late, Philip couldn’t shake the feeling that Malcolm’s freedom could very well mean Philip’s incarceration. Trading places with his brother was not on his “to do” list.
Malcolm glanced over his shoulder to the guard standing at the door. “Was she in the States when she called? I thought she flew to Europe.”
“She did, according to the flight records. Her return ticket is sitting with some of her things in Scotland so she didn’t get back the way she left. The police said she called the office from her apartment. My secretary knows Helen as well as she knows me, she knows her voice. Still, she can’t be in two places at the same time.”
This meant that Malcolm’s theory about how the stone worked might have a snowball’s chance of being true. The spark in his brother’s eye suggested Malcolm came to the same conclusion.
“If she called from the States, chances are she’ll show herself soon. Have you checked with that old lady she spends time with?”
“Spoke to her on the phone. She sounded concerned about Helen’s disappearance.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed. “You should check on her. She doesn’t have family, right?”
No, which right now sounded like a blessing. Philip felt his own will bending toward his brother’s. If Helen were in hiding, she probably would run to Mrs. Dawson’s.
Philip had only met the woman once when she walked into the auction house in search of Helen. He had a terrible feeling the woman saw right through him, deep into his tarnished soul. He didn’t want to repeat the experience.
“I’ll call her tonight.”
“A personal visit would be better.”
Order delivered.
Philip forced a smile to his face. “Right.”
Even behind bars, Malcolm managed to win. Philip knew what the man was capable of, and knew brotherly love wouldn’t keep Philip above ground if he didn’t come through for his brother.
“Call me tomorrow, two o’clock.” Malcolm hung up the visitor phone and pushed the steel chair back. The guard behind him stood taller and nodded when Malcolm walked past him.
Philip slowly placed the receiver on the hook and watched his brother disappear. The farther away his brother walked, the less pull he had on him. But Philip was well rehearsed at releasing his brother’s hold.
Others weren’t.
Even the guard escorting Mal back to his cell couldn’t be trusted. Philip might be able to push thoughts into the minds of the people around him, but Malcolm matched him with that gift, took it further, and erased a person’s own desires as well.
When they were kids, Malcolm would practice his tricks on the teachers at school. It started off innocent enough. I deserve an “A”, Miss Benito quickly morphed into I was in your class all day. On rare occasions, a teacher would break out of his brother’s hold long enough to mark him absent. Those teachers always found themselves doing completely inappropriate things in front of, or to, students.
Philip remembered a thirty-something year old Algebra teacher, married and mother of two. Malcolm loathed her. Malcolm sat at the front of the auditorium during an anti-drug demonstration put on by the local sheriff’s department and bent the teacher’s will like a twig. Once all the students assembled, and the cops uncovered their contraband to educate the kids on what to stay away from, the teacher burst from her seat, ran to the table, and started popping all the pills she could grab. She screeched profanities as if she had Tourette’s. The students howled in laughter while the police and school staff tried to restrain her.
The district fired the teacher and the police put her on a seventy two hour psychiatric hold before pressing charges. Malcolm never had to deal with her again.
Mal seldom dirtied his own hands. He’d have the bigger kids fight his battles.
But the bigger kids couldn’t get his dick wet, and that’s what landed Mal’s sorry ass in jail.
Philip remembered the pictures and video of what his brother did to the woman he’d murdered.
Everyone on the jury would remember the pictures, too. No matter how hard Malcolm tried, he couldn’t manipulate everyone’s mind at the same time to get him acquitted.
Even still, a couple of the jurors had met with premature deaths since the trial. Philip would bet his soul his brother was behind their demise.
“Are you waiting for someone else?”
Philip shook his head to clear it, and stared up at the guard. Smartass.
Outside the penitentiary, he walked past the visiting families and made his way t
o his car. After sliding behind the wheel, he started the engine and turned on the heater to ward of the unseasonal chill in the air.
In the seat beside him, he picked up his father’s journal. He opened to the dog-eared page, well worn from use, and read what he’d already memorized.
I found the stone hidden in a half-empty box of tampons. Fucking bitch thinks I’m stupid. Thought a man wouldn’t go there. Thought I’d never look in that box. I’m not stupid. I know she uses it to see him. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find out. One way or another, I’ll find out.
Philip turned the page.
Came home from the club and found the bathroom in ruins. Claire was hysterical. She accused me of ruining her life. Me, the one who stood by her all these years—the one who raised her bastards as if they were mine. It’s me she should love, not him. She’ll never see him again. She’ll learn to love me or die a bitter old woman.
The next few pages voiced the same sentiment. Philip’s parents fought, and his mom fell into a depression—something Dennis Lyons hadn’t seen coming. As much as Dennis loathed his wife’s transgressions, he loved the woman...and hated himself for it.
She’s back in the hospital. This time she locked herself in the car and let it run with the garage door down. The doctors say she’ll make it, but they want to take her to one of those crazy houses. I heard her mumble something about the stone while she was sedated. They gave her something to calm her down.
I’ve tried to make the fucking thing work. It won’t. While she slept I put it in her hand, and the thing lit up like a goddamn star. I had to wrestle it out of her palm. When she woke she stared at me as if she knew.
I could kill the bastard who did this to her—who took her from me. I’ll make this damn thing work if only to wring his fucking neck.
The pages after that were blank. Philip knew where the story ended. His mom successfully ended her own life by driving off a cliff. His dad, well, his step-dad anyway, ended up dying a bitter old man. Philip and Malcolm were ugly reminders of Dennis’s wasted life. All of this happened before Philip’s fifth birthday.
Malcolm remembered their mom, but Philip recalled nearly nothing. He remembered yelling and hospitals, and then the funeral. After that, a series of babysitters raised him and his brother. Mal manipulated every last one, much like his teachers. If he didn’t approve, they didn’t stay.
When Dennis died, Philip found the journal and a bag holding the stone. It was a rock, nothing more. Except the very same rock, or one exactly like it, sat around Helen’s neck in the form of a necklace. The rock Dennis left him sat in a jail cell with Malcolm.
And now Helen had disappeared, just like his mother had from time to time before Dennis took the stone away.
In order to learn the stone’s secrets, Helen had to reappear. Without any family of her own, she’d probably run to the only mother figure she had.
Philip buckled his seatbelt and shifted the car in gear.
It was time to pay Mrs. Dawson a personal visit.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Amber sat quietly on the back porch of Mrs. Dawson’s home. With the exception of Mrs. Dawson, everyone had left early in the morning. The children were with Helen, and the others were finding suitable clothing and supplies to meet their needs during their stay in this century. When asked to go along, Amber waved them off. “I’ll have plenty of time to explore. Besides, wearing this cloak might appear suspicious. We wouldn’t want any unnecessary attention while everyone is here.”
There was some legitimacy to her excuse for not accompanying them for the day, but the truth was, Amber needed time in her new world to adjust. Myra had warned her of all the modern conveniences and overall noise of this century. Her warnings didn’t do justice to the reality. There were people all around them, strangers whose twisted emotions seeped through the cracks of Amber’s protective cloak. She needed to find a more convenient means of protection. Wearing the cloak at all times might have made lifting her head easier, but it would draw curious eyes. From what Helen had said, the hot weather of California wouldn’t lend itself to a long robe of any kind. Lizzy was searching for a garment that would suit Amber’s needs so they could charm it before they were summoned back in time.
On a sigh, Amber picked up the empty cup used for tea and made her way into the kitchen. The smooth counters and ovens that didn’t use fire to heat brought a smile to Amber’s lips. She ran her hand along the ice box and opened it long enough to feel the cool temperature inside. Multiple colored liquids sat in glass containers on the shelves. She felt as if she were violating someone’s privacy by peeking inside so she didn’t continue exploring the refrigerator.
Amber heard Mrs. Dawson’s footsteps in the hall. “There you are,” she said with a smile. “I was wondering where you might explore first.”
Amber’s spine stiffened. “I’m sorry if I overstepped—”
“Nonsense. Overstep all you like. How else are you to learn?” Mrs. Dawson slid onto a stool at the counter.
“You’re too kind.”
“It isn’t every day I have the company of a beautiful woman from a century long past. I’ll bet you have a question or two about everything in this room.”
Amber glanced around. “Aye,” she said.
“Then ask.”
Smiling, Amber pointed to the first object she saw. “What is this used for?”
“It’s a toaster. You put sliced bread into the slots, push down the button and in a minute or two, the bread is cooked on both sides.”
She placed her fingers on the lever. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Amber pushed the lever down and watched the inside of the machine turn red. “Amazing.”
Mrs. Dawson proceeded to give everything in the room a name. A coffee maker, a can opener, a dishwasher—too many names and uses for Amber to process. It was all fascinating and a bit overwhelming.
How had Myra managed without the guidance of someone who understood where she came from? When her sister returned, she’d have to ask.
The telephone rang and Amber jumped.
“It’s only the phone.” Mrs. Dawson winked and reached to answer it. “Hello?”
Amber avoided listening, but Mrs. Dawson’s body tightened as she spoke. “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Lyons, but I’m a bit indisposed at the moment. Would it be too much trouble for you to come back in an hour?” Mrs. Dawson placed a hand over the phone and whispered. “It’s Helen’s boss. He’s at the gate.”
“Why is he here?”
Mrs. Dawson shrugged. “Hold on, Mr. Lyons.”
“What should we do?”
“He already sounds suspicious. If we turn him away, he might linger and be here when Helen and the others return.”
“Is it safe to allow him in?” Only one maid wandered the grounds. Hardly any protection against a man.
“He’s never threatened me.” Mrs. Dawson placed her attention back to the man on the phone. “Come on in, Mr. Lyons. I’ll have Amber meet you at the door while I find something suitable to wear.”
After disconnecting the call, Mrs. Dawson waved Amber toward the front door. “Talk with him for a few minutes, see if you can use that extra sense of yours to find anything out. I’ll call Helen and make certain she doesn’t come back with him here.”
Amber’s heart jumped in her chest. She knew how to greet visitors, but this one posed a threat to Helen, or so they thought. By the time she reached the door, Mr. Lyon’s knock sounded in the hall. She flattened her hand over her stomach and twisted the handle.
The man standing in the doorway wore a simple smile that brightened when his eyes met Amber’s. “You must be Amber.”
“Yes. Mrs. Dawson will be down in a moment, won’t you come in?” Stepping aside, Amber let the man pass, ignoring the fluttering in her insides. It was common for women in this century to meet strange men without a chaperone at their side. The experience however, was new for her.
“Thank you,” Philip sa
id. “Are you Mrs. Dawson’s nurse?”
Amber shook her head. “House guest.”
He moved his head to the side. “Ah.”
She would have offered to take his coat had he been wearing one. “Shall we wait for Mrs. Dawson in the library? She’ll only be a minute.”
“Fine.”
Amber felt his stare as she led him into the dark room. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Philip stared at her after sitting on the edge of the sofa. Their conversation stalled and awkward silence filled the room. “What brings you here today, Mr. Lyons?”
“Mrs. Dawson and I have a mutual friend who has gone missing. I was hoping she’d have some information.”
Amber couldn’t tell if he was sincere with the cloak covering her shoulders. His dark eyes didn’t hold his thoughts.
“Philip.” Mrs. Dawson leaned on her cane as she entered the room. Amber eyed the stick, but didn’t say a word about it. The older woman limped toward them and Philip stood.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you’d heard something.”
“Nothing I’m afraid.” Mrs. Dawson turned toward Amber. “Can you be a dear and ask Mavis to make tea?”
“I’ve come at a bad time. I won’t be staying,” Philip said. “I know Helen would want me to check on you.” His gaze drifted to Amber. “But I see you have company.”
“No need to worry about me, Philip, but thank you for your concern. Have you heard from the authorities?”
Philip hesitated before shaking his head. Amber wasn’t sure if Mrs. Dawson noticed his hesitation, but she had. Trying to stay unnoticed, Amber pulled one arm out of her cloak and adjusted to the weight of anxiety surrounding her. Her heart started to leap and a small ache pulsed behind her right ear.
It didn’t seem as if Philip would be staying long, and losing this opportunity to read the man might not come again.
“They spoke with my staff and interviewed her neighbors.”
“I somehow think she’ll turn up.”
Philip’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”
Highland Shifter Page 20