The Immortals I_Lucas

by Cynthia Breeding

  She stared at him. “I won’t believe that. Mr. Smith still has the original.”

  Michael shrugged. “And it’s in middle-Gaelic. So who can translate? Professor MacDonald is dead. You were supposed to be. He could lead Smith on while he searches for the Hallows. You know whoever holds them has ultimate power.” He leaned closer. “Ramsey had your keys when he drove you home from that lunch. Did he give them to you as soon as you got back?”

  Sara started and felt her face flush. “No, he forgot. He brought them back after you took him home.”

  A look of anger crossed the warlock’s face, but he masked it. “So he could have had time to make a copy before he got them back?”

  “Michael, no. I don’t—“

  “He could have had the time, though?” Michael’s voice was hard. ‘Yes or no?”

  She felt tears brim her eyes. The man had been big and broad-shouldered. But I would have sensed it if it had been Lucas, wouldn’t I? Oh, Goddess, he wouldn’t harm me, would he?

  “Yes or no, Sara? Could Ramsey have had a copy of your key?”

  She couldn’t lie. “Yes,” she said, “he could have.”

  * * * *

  Baylor tore the worthless papers into pieces and tossed them in the wastebasket. How could this one mission of obtaining the manuscript—which should have been accomplished if his minion hadn’t screwed up at the auction—gone so wrong? First, Toby didn’t get the bag when the driver knocked the bitch down, then Caldwell had tried his well-reputed seducing skills on her to no avail. The drug episode had gone wrong when Ramsey intervened and she picked up the tail from the restaurant. Hell, even he had struck out in Halifax, and that had only happened once before since he’d been banished to human existence. He’d think the Kincaid woman had the blessing and protection of Avalon itself, except the bitch was dead and they still didn’t have a copy.

  He would have killed Caldwell for this fiasco, but he needed him to go back in. Smith still had the original and somehow he needed to get it. At least the hot iron marks he’d branded on Caldwell’s ass wouldn’t show, although he’d have a painful time sitting down. Just a reminder that he shouldn’t let his boss down either.

  Baylor grinned remembering the scene. Bent over a padded barre in a private room of a discreet S & M club, Caldwell’s wrists had been shackled to his ankles. It had taken four burly guards to subdue him and because Baylor respected a fighting spirit, he had benevolently given Alan the choice of having his ass reamed by the guards or taking the hot irons. The pure hatred that had flowed from Caldwell’s every pore was emotional food to him.

  But Caldwell would obey him, just as that boy, Toby, did. For Baylor had discovered the weakness in both of them. Caldwell had an elderly mother whose every bone could be broken by the merest touch and Toby had a virginal sister who needed wheelchair assistance. Yes, the men would obey him.

  * * * *

  When Sara pulled into Mr. Smith’s driveway just after daybreak, she hit the brakes so hard the Mustang lurched to a stop. A black Honda was parked in the driveway, just like the one who had followed her.

  And it was only a little after 6:00 am. She’d been so upset with Michael that she needed to get away and she knew Mr. Smith was an early riser, but what was that car doing here?

  She managed to say good morning to the butler in a steady voice as she made her way to the study. Mr. Smith was behind his desk and Lucas was standing in front of it, a black t-shirt stretching over his broad back, tight jeans hugging slim hips and well-muscled thighs. She caught her breath. He couldn’t be the intruder, but what was he doing back so soon?

  “Is that your black rental out front?” she asked.

  He seemed to hesitate before he turned around and then gave her a slow smile. “It is. Good morning, lass.”

  It was his car! Was he the one driving it yesterday?

  He glanced at his watch. “I was planning on coming to get you in about an hour. Is everything okay?”

  What should she tell him? That she’d been nearly murdered? Or did he know and had planned to return and “find” the body? Damn Michael’s questions for even putting that thought there. She didn’t want to believe it. But she had to know.

  “Did you really go to Scotland? Do you still have your ticket?”

  His eyes narrowed, the golden color beginning to glow darker as he studied her. Then suddenly he grinned. “Aye. And I brought back a wee gift for ye . Can ye not wait to get it?” He patted a jean pocket. “I have it right here.” Then he turned to Mr. Smith and winked. “You know how impatient women can be. Would you excuse us?” At Smith’s nod, he strode across the room and took Sara’s arm. “Let’s go to the library, shall we?”

  She didn’t think she had much of a choice for his grip felt like steel. He didn’t say anything until he closed the library door.

  “What’s this all about? Of course, I was in Scotland. Why are you asking?”

  “You weren’t driving that Honda yesterday?”

  He stared at her. “I wasn’t here. I rented the thing this morning when I got in. What’s the problem with the car?”

  “Oh, it just followed me all over Arlington yesterday.”

  His voice was edgy. “And what were you doing driving around by yourself?”

  Her chin came up. “I’m not a child and it was broad daylight.” Probably not a good idea to tell him about the lunch with Caldwell.

  “I thought we’d agreed that you would stay in and keep the doors locked.”

  She refused to let him make her feel guilty. “A lot of good locks do!”

  Instantly, he became wary, like a wild animal sensing danger. “What do you mean by that?”

  “My apartment was entered last night by someone who had a key. He searched for the copy, but all he got was my Gwenhwyfar papers.” She watched his face, but it showed nothing except concern as he stepped over to her and grasped her shoulders.

  “Are you okay? Where was the… McCain? He said he’d guard you.”

  Goddess, his touch erased any thoughts that he could possibly be guilty. How could hands so warm and gentle be capable of firing a 9MM into her bed? And his eyes didn’t waver. He couldn’t be lying. Could he? Her Losers had been great actors.

  “Michael got a call that his mother had been in an accident. He went to Waco.”

  Lucas cursed softly. “This is Baylor’s doing. He conveniently got both of us out of the way.” Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Why didn’t your friend arrange for someone to be with you?”

  She narrowed her eyes in response. “What are you getting at?”

  He paused. “How well do you know McCain?”

  Every sense alerted. “We’ve been friends for nearly ten years. I’ve already told you, he runs the temp agency for me.”

  “Is that all?”

  Somehow she didn’t get the feeling he was asking out of jealousy. “Why?”

  He walked over to the desk and sat on the edge, arms folded across his chest. “I know that he’s a warlock.”

  She felt her face pale. “What makes you think—“

  His jaw set. “Don’t lie to me. Ever. I know that you have a Sisterhood Circle that worships the Goddess. That’s fine with me. I told you the Highlands still honor Brighid, too.”

  Her mouth gaped and she snapped it shut. “How did you find out?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I should have suspected earlier. What does matter, though, is do you know what else your friend might be?”

  “Now what are you talking about?”

  “Know anything about shape-shifting?”

  She gave him a cool look. “Just because I practice white witchcraft—harnessing nature’s forces and channeling energies—doesn’t mean I’m loony enough to believe in men turning into werewolves or vampires or something.”

  Lucas looked pained. “A shape-shifter is a bit different. He—or she—can turn into whatever animal they want. And the strong ones can even create the illusion of being a different person. They are v
ery vulnerable when shifting and someone like Baylor could grab control of the shifter’s mind.”

  Sara knew that any person who raised her own awareness through attunement to the elements ran the risk of negative forces wanting to draw on that power. It was why it was so important to keep invisible shields in place. A kind of psychic ward.

  She tried to laugh but it didn’t really work. “So what are you saying? That Michael might be hanging out as the neighborhood mutt?”

  Lucas shook his head. “If you follow the Goddess path, then you must believe there are other life forms—elementals, faeries—co-habiting this universe. Why not shape-shifters? Or even werewolves?”

  His voice was oddly intent. She wondered if he’d ever sensed Nim. “Yes, I work with nature’s beings. But this is too much. Michael isn’t responsible for what happened last night.”

  Lucas trained his eyes seriously on her face. “I’m saying that Baylor could be controlling him. I was gone and if McCain came up with an excuse to be gone, too, it left you wide open for an intruder. Does Michael have a key to your place?”

  Now there’s a loaded question. Maybe Lucas was prying a bit after all. “No.” When he looked relieved, she added, “He thought you might have.”

  His eyes lit with interest and a corner of his mouth turned up in pure alpha male satisfaction. “Why would he think that?”

  Her traitorous hormones reacted to the slightly husky hint of lust in his tone, imagining him letting himself into her apartment and stripping off his clothes as he came to her bed, his erection fully hard and impaling her as she woke from her sleep… She pushed the image away. She had to clear the air on this other thing.

  “Michael thinks maybe it was you who let yourself in.”

  She sensed, rather than saw, Lucas tense. His amber eyes seemed to glow suddenly and the desk lamp from behind him was doing tricks with the angles of his face.

  “You think I broke into your place to steal a copy of something I’ve already read? Why would I do that?”

  Sara hesitated, not wanting to say the rest. But she had to put her mind at ease. “He said… He said maybe you wanted to be the only one who knew what was in the manuscript. That Professor MacDonald was dead and if I were silenced—“

  His face paled beneath his tan as he sprang from the desk’s edge and cupped her face in his hands. “Silenced? What are you saying? I thought someone rifled the place. You were there? What in hell happened?”

  She stared into his eyes, trying to ignore the desire that was building in her as the heat from his hands spread downward, swelling her breasts and searing through her belly.

  “Someone shot me last night.”

  “What?”

  “Shot me. Well, shot at me in bed. Only it was pillows—” She didn’t have a chance to finish for his mouth suddenly claimed hers, his lips hot and demanding as he ravaged her mouth, demanding entrance. She parted her lips as he pulled her against him, one arm across her back, pressing her already heavy, achy breasts to him while the other hand cupped a buttock and he ground what felt like a foot of steel against her hip. His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, mimicking what the lower half of him wanted to do. Sara opened her lips more fully and he sucked her tongue into his mouth. She felt like she was going to melt totally into the warm, wet gush between her legs.

  With an effort, Lucas broke off the kiss and pushed back, his eyes gleaming preternaturally. He was breathing hard as though fighting an inner battle.

  “I would never hurt you, Sara. Never.”

  She realized she was panting too, as the taste of him lingered on her tongue and her core still throbbed with intense longing to feel that hard, thick shaft inside her. But he had stepped back from her, putting distance between them.

  “I believe you,” she started to say when the study door opened and Mr. Smith stepped inside with Alan Caldwell.

  He had the decency to look slightly alarmed. Probably afraid that she would give something away to Mr. Smith about his raucous behavior yesterday. Well, not in front of Lucas. Not after that scintillating kiss.

  “I thought you were finished here,” she said.

  He gave her a small smile. “My editor wanted a few more details.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Smith beamed, “always happy to oblige. Why don’t you sit down while I go get those history books that I was telling you about?”

  “I think I’ll stand if you don’t mind,” Caldwell said. “I…went horseback riding yesterday afternoon and I’m sore.” He went over to the window and looked out.

  Sara raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been interested in riding horses yesterday at lunch. He didn’t look like the cowboy type and there were no public riding stables that she knew of in the area. Strange.

  Lucas was watching him too, his neck stiff and his chin lifted as though he were scenting the air, almost like a wolf. Sara shook her head. He must have addled her brains with that kiss. Wolves and werewolves. What was she thinking?

  * * * *

  Baylor watched Caldwell as he stood beside the girl, Morgan, who she sat on the sofa in his hotel suite. She was a hot little piece of ass. Even now, as she traced her fingertips along Caldwell’s thigh, she kept giving Baylor provocative sideways glances.

  He still wasn’t sure that letting the witch know about the Hallows had been a good idea, but he understood that uniting and balancing male and female energy would create more power. And she was able to draw on the Circle of do-gooders too. Especially the Kincaid woman’s and he needed that. The bitch seemed damn near invincible and she wasn’t even immortal. Morgan’s “friends” just didn’t realize how willing she was to use their power for dark purposes. Baylor had his own plans of uniting all that energy with her later and sucking it in. He smiled, wondering if she’d like what he planned to do.

  “So Ms. Kincaid is alive and well?” he said pleasantly. Caldwell had called him earlier with the news.

  “Yes. Should I try talking to her again tonight?” Caldwell asked while Morgan made a sound of displeasure low in her throat.

  Baylor shook his head. “You don’t seem to be too successful in persuading her to do anything,” he said and noticed that Morgan had dropped her hand. “I think perhaps I need to meet the lady myself. Do you think that can be arranged?”

  “Do you want me to bring her to you?” Morgan asked as she licked her lower lip.

  “No, my dear,” Baylor answered, “I don’t want her knowing you’re involved with me in any way. I want to save you for some other missions.” He thought he actually heard her purr. Well, maybe the $50,000.00 modeling contract she’d just signed helped. That was only the beginning, though, if the witch took any pleasure in the kind of sadistic games he liked to play in bed. And he had a feeling she would. He turned back to Alan.

  “Hire a couple of thugs by tomorrow. Have them waiting when she gets home tomorrow night.”

  Morgan frowned. “She won’t be alone.”

  Baylor raised an eyebrow. “Who will be with her? Ramsey?” It was about time to teach the Templar a lesson, even if he couldn’t kill him.

  She shook her head. “No. Michael. Our warlock.”

  “Ah.” Baylor saw the red heat of passion fire in her aura. This was the man she was besotted with. The one he could use to bend her to his will if she didn’t serve him well. Perhaps he should give her a little incentive.

  “Do you suppose you could distract him? We’d only need an hour or so.”

  She smiled and curled strands of long hair around a finger and let her hand brush across her breast as she lowered it. “I think so.”

  “Good,” he replied and nodded to Caldwell. “You can go. Oh, yes, one more thing. Tell the grunts not to kill the bitch. Bring her to me.”

  As they turned to the door, Baylor caught Morgan’s hand. “If you wouldn’t mind keeping an old man company for a little while?”

  Her smile was totally feline. “You’re not old.”

  “Perhaps you could make me feel young again,”
he said and grinned when Caldwell slammed the door.

  * * * *

  Michael was sitting in his car and waiting for her when she got home.

  “I brought dinner,” he said as he joined her by the front door holding a bag of Chinese carry-out.

  “Smells great,” Sara said as she let them in, “but you didn’t need to do that.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You were going to make dinner? Since when did you learn to cook?”

  “I know how to cook,” she said as she set out plates. “I prefer not to. Anyway, when did we arrange for dinner? You were pretty angry with me this morning.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” He actually looked contrite, which was a trait Sara had never seen him exhibit. “But since I’m spending the night, I needed some nourishment.”

  She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “You’re spending the night?”

  He grinned and handed her chopsticks. “Yeap. Backpack’s in the car.”

  “Michael, we’ve had this conversation before. I’m not sleeping with you. Women follow you as though you were the Pied Piper. All I’d be is another conquest. Let’s stay friends.”

  The grin faded and the humor left his dark eyes to be replaced with the predatory look of the warlock. “For the record, you wouldn’t be ‘another conquest’. But if I truly meant to seduce you, Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have brought food with MSG in it. Makes me…uh…sleepy, you might say.”

  She frowned. “Then why…?” Suddenly her eyes widened. “You think I need protection, don’t you?”

  “I know you do,” he said and ignored her look of exasperation. “Whoever paid you a visit last night may come back. I’m surprised Ramsey didn’t think of it.”

  “Stop suspecting him, Michael. We had a talk today.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing remembering how that talk had ended in a mind-blowing kiss that would have put any Frenchman to shame. “And,” she added logically, “if he had been the visitor, the easiest way to get me alone is to come home with me under the guise of protecting me.” For a moment, she felt an adrenaline rush as she thought of Lucas’ comments on Baylor’s possible control of the warlock. Goddess, she’d known Michael for ten years, surely she would have noticed some change in his behavior if Baylor had started manipulating him. She had to stop this paranoid way of thinking.