He refused to let her fumble with trying to bandage her own hands and briskly accomplished the task himself. Ignoring the way he wanted to hit something when he saw her injuries gave him something else to think about, but it couldn’t completely distract him from the sparks of electricity that buzzed through him every time his skin brushed hers. Or from the memory of the kiss he’d pressed on her Friday night. Neither one of them seemed to have the courage to bring up.
She mumbled her thanks and followed him back out to his living room.
The loft Mac rented in SoHo predated the days when lofts became contemporary spaces. His was a holdover from the time when artists had first convinced the owners of empty old industrial buildings that renting them on the cheap to the bohemian set beat letting them sit around collecting dust. The exposed brick and ductwork looked as old as they actually were, but he’d made sure they stayed solid and had lived in the space long enough to make it look and feel like a home. A bachelor’s home, but still.
He waved her to a seat on the battered leather sofa in the center of the main space and crossed to the kitchen counter at one end of the room. Without asking, he poured two glasses of wine and handed her one before seating himself next to her.
She accepted without comment. “Have you been warned away from going to Faerie?”
Mac shook his head. “No, why?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what happened to me, and if any travel between here and Faerie is discouraged, like you said, then why was I the one that thing chose to warn off? Actually, it seemed pretty content with the idea of killing me to keep me from making the trip. Is that how these things are normally handled?”
“I doubt it.” He thought about the details of the story she’d told him and struggled to separate his rage at the idea of anyone attacking her from the equation. It wasn’t easy, and it left him with a few very unsettling questions. “So did the figure who attacked say that he knew what you were looking for?”
Danice nodded. “Yeah, but he didn’t specify what that meant. I thought for a second he might be referring to Rosemary, but that would be impossible. I mean, you haven’t told anyone the reason why we want to go to Faerie, right? So he couldn’t have known about Rosemary. Or she couldn’t. Or it. Oh, how the hell would I know? I still don’t even know what the damned thing was.”
“Well, I can’t tell you specifically, but I’m sure it was Fae. And no, I didn’t mention Rosemary to Quigley, but—”
“Wait, how exactly can you be sure it was Fae? I mean, I wondered who else would warn me away from Faerie, but you weren’t there to see it.”
“I didn’t need to be. You said the train scared it away, right?”
“I said I thought it must have,” she corrected, “because I couldn’t think of anything else that would have stopped it. It certainly wasn’t having any trouble kicking my ass, so the idea of a whole new crowd of people must have made it think twice.”
Mac shook his head. “It had nothing to do with the passengers on the train; it was the train itself. One of the few remnants of human lore about the Fae that’s actually true is the bit about iron. They can’t stand it. It’s like their kryptonite. It would have been uncomfortable just being near the iron subway tracks, but once the train itself pulled up, that amount of cold iron so close would have been intolerable to it. The fact that the train made it run is all the evidence you need to prove it was Fae.”
He watched her digest that news and nod. “Okay, then at least I don’t have to worry about some other group of Others out there wanting to see me dead. There’s just the one. That’s some comfort, I suppose.”
“I doubt anyone wants you dead,” Mac said, shifting at the way the idea of someone threatening this woman made him want to go out and kill things. “The messenger was probably sent to do just what it did, and that was to warn you off.”
“But who sent it?”
“That’s what I was going to say before. I didn’t mention to Quigley why we wanted to go to Faerie, but I don’t think it would take another Sherlock Holmes to put together the inquiries I was making over the last couple of weeks with my sudden request for passage into Faerie. Anyone could put those two facts together and come up with the reason why I’m looking for a guide.”
Danice scowled at him. “Rosemary Addison comes from a very powerful family. Weren’t you at least a little discreet when you were looking for her?”
He shook his head. “Why should I have been? The more people who knew I was looking for her, the more likely it was that word would trickle back to her and she’d contact me herself, saving me any more work. I had no reason to think anyone meant her any harm.”
“You’d been hired by an anonymous client. It could have been Jack the Ripper for all you know!”
Mac gritted his teeth. “The odds were against it. I told you before, a request for anonymity isn’t unheard of in my profession, and it’s no reason to assume the client has nefarious purposes. I wasn’t asked to do anything illegal or unethical. If I had been, I’d have turned down the job.”
Dark brown eyes challenged his statement. “Would you?”
He stiffened at the insult. “Damned straight, I would have. And let me tell you something, Danice Carter.” He leaned in close and felt the way she tensed, saw the trickle of unease behind her direct gaze. “If you don’t trust me that much, there’s no way in hell you should be following me into Faerie. You’re talking about a place where you’ll be so far out of your depth, even a lifeboat isn’t going to save you. I’m the only thing that can. But if you don’t follow every single one of my orders without wondering about the motivation behind it, you’re going to find yourself on the dinner plate of something a hell of a lot scarier than the messenger you just ran into.”
Mac tried to keep his expression harsh and his demeanor unforgiving, but being so close to Danice that he could feel her breath brushing his cheek with each exhale threatened to snap every last thread of his self-control. He’d felt attraction to her the minute he’d set eyes on her, and every second he spent in her company only intensified the sensation. He wanted her so badly his hands shook with it. The fact that this mess with Rosemary Addison stood between them just might kill him if it lasted too much longer. He needed to get his hands on Danice before his head exploded.
Or something even more embarrassing exploded.
He set aside his wineglass and braced his hands on the sofa to push to his feet. One of her hands covered his and froze him in place. Those big, dark eyes had locked on his face, and he found himself wondering how any woman could have eyes that looked as soft and sweet as melted chocolate and yet conveyed such incredible strength and self-assurance. She should have reminded him of a puppy or a deer, or something else cuddly and vulnerable, but instead she presented herself as an exotic warrior queen.
What else could he call her? After all, he had already begun to suspect he’d been conquered.
Her palm pressed against the back of his hand, sending sparks shooting up his arm and straight to his heart. “I think that I do trust you, Mac. I think that if I hadn’t, you would have been the last person I went to about tonight. After all, you’re not the only one I can ask about questions of magic and mayhem, remember? But when the train came and I was able to leave that station, I didn’t go home, or to Reggie or Missy. My first thought was that I had to tell you. To me, that sounds like trust.”
“I notice you didn’t mention anything about obeying my orders,” he pointed out, feeling his mouth quirk with reluctant humor.
“No, because I really hate making promises I’m not a hundred percent certain that I’ll be able to keep.” She made a face. “I’m not stupid. I realize that you’re going into this situation knowing a lot more about where we’re going and who we’ll be dealing with than I do, so I’m not going to blow you off just for the sake of asserting my independence. I don’t have to prove that you’re not the boss of me. Which means that I can at least promise not to do anything stupid. Ho
w’s that?”
“I think it’s the best I’m going to get.” He smiled.
“I think so, too.”
“However,” he continued, deciding to press the advantage while he had it, “I think it would make a very nice gesture of mutual trust if you told me why it is that you’ve been working so hard to get in touch with Rosemary Addison.”
He watched her expression shift into a grimace and saw her shake her head.
“I’m sorry, Mac, but you know I can’t do that,” she said, and she did, to her credit, actually sound regretful. “Attorney–client privilege isn’t just a catchphrase to me; I take it seriously. I can’t disclose information about my client without her permission.”
Mac knew she was only being honest, and he respected her for that. But all the respect in the world didn’t make him comfortable about walking into the meeting with Quigley, or into Faerie itself, blind.
“Okay, I get that you can’t disclose information, but how about I tell you what I’ve learned about Ms. Addison and if you don’t tell me that it has absolutely nothing to do with your case, I’ll be satisfied that I know where we stand. Deal?”
He saw her mull it over, realize that she wouldn’t be violating privilege by letting him repeat things he already knew, and nod reluctantly.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what I’ve heard. Apparently Ms. Addison hooked up with a man a few months ago at a club. They were seen leaving together on a Saturday night, no one heard from Rosemary for a couple of days, and when she did show her face again, she seemed angry and upset over the fact that she hadn’t heard from her mystery man after that night.”
Danice just let him talk, her expression carefully blank, but she hadn’t stopped him yet to tell him he was nuts.
“There are rumors going around that Rosemary tried pretty hard to find the guy again with no luck. Apparently, he made quite an impression.
“Other rumors say that Rosemary herself has been hinting she might have wound up pregnant after her one-night stand, and that she hasn’t done the hinting all that quietly. Some people are even saying she’s making it public to try to smoke the guy out in the hope that he might want to have something to do with any child he might have fathered.”
Danice said not a word.
Mac shook his head and whistled. “That could be really bad news. What if the person who hired me, the one connected with the Unseelie Court, is the father of Rosemary’s baby?”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Depending on who it is? It could be fine, but it could also be disastrous. I told you, members of the Unseelie Court as a rule are not generally all that kindly disposed toward humans.”
“Well, one of them might have liked Rosemary enough to sleep with her. And if you’re right, isn’t it a good sign that he was interested enough to listen when Rosemary started spreading her news around New York? I mean, unless most Fae keep their eye on the society pages of the papers here.”
“No, most Fae couldn’t care less about human society.”
“Oh. Well, can I at least think positively for a while?”
“Maybe.” Even to his own ears, Mac sounded unconvinced. “I think the safest bet, though, is to get ourselves to Faerie and find out the truth as soon as possible.”
Danice frowned and nodded. “I agree.”
The plump line of her lips made him want to trace the seam with his tongue, to nibble on the lush little pillows and explore all the secrets they concealed. His stare must have tipped her off to his train of thought, because her gaze dropped to his mouth and she swayed ever so slightly toward him. The memory of Friday’s kiss hovered between them, and Mac craved the opportunity to show her what a kiss without anger could generate between them.
Then again, he wasn’t sure if his insurance was adequate for the resulting explosion.
Just before he made the decision that the destruction of all his personal property might be worth it, Danice seemed to jerk herself to her senses.
She pulled back and cleared her throat nervously. “So, uh, when did you and Quigley decide we’d be able to leave?”
Mac stifled a curse and carefully lifted his gaze to her eyes, sternly ordering it to stay put. Any lower than the bridge of her nose, and he tended to get distracted. “We haven’t yet. I arranged to meet him tonight, remember?”
Danice looked startled, then winced. “No, I totally forgot. What time is it? Did I make you late? Don’t tell me you’ve missed him.”
“No, relax. It’s only eight. He won’t be expecting me before ten. Quigley’s a bit of a night owl.”
“Really,” she mused, and the light that began to glow in her dark eyes made him very, very nervous. “So, you’re meeting tonight to arrange the best time to make the trip, hm? The trip you and I will be making together. It sounds to me like I made a lucky decision when I headed for your office instead of my apartment after the subway thing. Now that I’m here—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. “No way.”
“—it would be silly for us not to meet with your friend together.”
“Forget it.”
“Now, Mac, be reasonable.” Her expression was sly enough to turn his wine into vinegar. “It only makes sense that both of us be there for the meeting. That way, we each hear any instructions Quigley has for us, and he gets an idea of who exactly he’ll be leading on this little expedition.”
“He doesn’t need to have an idea of that. We’re not trekking through the Bolivian rain forest. He’s leading us through a gate. It’s not like you have to have special skills and a machete.”
She raised a brow. “After that incident tonight, a machete might just make me feel better.”
“You see? That’s exactly why you don’t need to be there,” he said. “He’s just the type to take offense to remarks like that. You can’t go around insulting his countrymen, Danice. It’s not polite.”
“Oh, don’t be a poop. I can be as diplomatic as the Swiss when I need to be, and I promise to be so in two more hours. Which”—she glanced at her watch—“should give us just enough time to grab some dinner beforehand. How do you feel about Chinese?”
Twelve
Mac seemed to feel just fine about Chinese. It was how he felt about bringing Danice to meet with his Fae contact that she guessed had set his teeth on edge. He hadn’t said more than three words over dim sum, and he’d spent the entire cab ride into the Village glaring at her as if he’d like to see her stuffed and mounted in an entomological exhibit.
Surprisingly, that didn’t make her any more comfortable than when he looked at her as if he’d like to see her wearing nothing but whipped cream and a cherry.
Damn it, girl, she scolded herself, you need to make up your mind. Do you want him to want you, or not? Because at the moment, nothing is making you happy.
Danice walked along beside him as he led the way from where the cab had dropped them off to the bar where he’d arranged to meet his contact. Actually, she half jogged, because Mac appeared to be in no mood to make allowances for her shorter stride, and just now she wasn’t about to ask him to slow down so she could keep up.
It made her uncomfortable to have him upset with her, and knowing that only served to make her even more uncomfortable. She didn’t want Mac Callahan to have the power to affect her moods, but it looked as if that ship had sailed. She really hadn’t known him long enough to feel such a connection with him, had she? And even if she had, wouldn’t that kind of relationship need to be based on more than a physical attraction? After all, it wasn’t as if the two of them had anything in common.
Okay, that wasn’t precisely true, she admitted as she jogged around a corner and followed Mac into an alley between two sets of brick row houses. They each worked in fields adjacent to, but not exactly in, law enforcement, and they each had a mind that latched onto puzzles with something akin to rabid fervor. He seemed to enjoy her rather dry sense of humor, and she appreciated his sly charm. And judging by what she’d seen of
his apartment, they appeared to have similar tastes in books and music, but how much could that mean? They’d never gotten a chance to discuss those things, or any of the other thousand subjects two people who were interested in each other discussed before they started to really matter to each other.
So, yes, she told herself, she needed to get a grip and calm down and keep her mind focused on the matter at hand. Especially since it was the only thing that she and Mac had ever really discussed—this damned case, and getting to Faerie so they could find Rosemary Addison and wrap up the whole damned mess.
Danice was so wrapped up in her mental debate that she didn’t notice when Mac stopped in front of what looked like a steel service-exit door in the side of one of the alley walls. She nearly ran headfirst into the back of him, and had to reach out and grab the wall to keep from doing so. It felt damp and slimy to her touch, and she made a face as she wiped her hand on the leg of her trousers. After the subway, the garment was already doomed.
Before she could ask why he had stopped, Mac lifted a fist and tapped out a complex series of raps on the metal of the door. Without warning, the door swung inward to reveal a set of steps leading down and a sign hanging from the ceiling. In letters that glowed a rather sickly shade of green, it spelled out the under belly. Mac didn’t spare it a glance. He just started down the steps and left Danice to scramble after him.
The steps consisted of huge, granite slabs worn down in the center by years and years of traffic moving up and down. The walls began with the same brick that made up the alley outside, but as they descended, the brick changed to rough stones, fitted together so tightly that only the barest traces of mortar showed between them. Unfortunately, the stone displayed the same rancid sheen as the slimy alley walls, so Danice made very certain to keep her hands at her sides and concentrate on her balance.
Prince Charming Doesn’t Live Here Page 10