The town loomed before them. Richard fought an urge to kiss the ground. Later, perhaps he’d kiss his bed.
No police officials awaited them in the hotel lobby, though the doorman gave Richard’s and Daz’s dirt-encrusted shoes a second look.
Their four-room suite was similarly empty of any authorities. Good.
“Should I contact Lord Romanoff and let him know we were set up?” Marian asked.
“He might tell us more about his contact,” Daz said.
“We probably learned more from the monk than we will from Romanoff.” Richard scowled. He was too tired to deal with questions. All he wanted to do was collapse. He waved a hand. “Do what you think is best.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Marian asked.
“I’m fine.”
He slammed the door to his room shut behind him. He could not, would not, collapse in front of either of them.
Daz would see it as weakness. And he certainly did not want his angel to see so him so drained. Yes, she’d seen him shot. But this exhaustion felt worse, as if he couldn’t even lift a finger. He fell in the bed face first and sighed.
How much did Marshal know of the real truth behind Rasputin? Marshal wasn’t a liar, but clearly something was off with his information about Rasputin, just as there was something off with the Queen’s illness. It was as if someone had anticipated his next move, and Richard had no idea what game was being played.
“I’m used to him being rude to me but he’s usually polite to you,” Daz said in the silence after Richard slammed the door shut on them.
Marian poured a glass of water from the small kitchen area of the luxury suite. She drank it all down, feeling the cold of the water as it went down her throat. That was better. Daz had set a fast pace. She’d kept up—all those mornings of going for runs paid off—but it wasn’t easy.
“Do you think Rasputin is alive?” Daz asked.
“I’ve never heard that he is but I never had an immortal prince for a client before or been attacked by someone who claimed to be in the service of a saint. That Russian monk sure believed in Rasputin.” She sighed. “I don’t know if I should call Romanoff or not and ask him about his contact.”
“Not now.” Daz poured her another glass of water and handed it to her. “You’re exhausted.”
“Thanks.” Like the first glass, she drank all this down in one gulp.
“When you’re tired and hungry, that’s no time to confront someone, even by phone. Rest and recover now, conquer the world tomorrow.” Daz smiled and picked up the hotel phone on the counter. “I’m ordering in. Any preferences?”
“Food. Something with butter. Lots of things with butter.”
“Can do.”
She went to her room to wash up and change out of her sweaty clothes into something more casual. The over-large pillows and the big bed with the frilly shams seemed so odd after what she’d been through today. She usually stayed at nice hotels in a regular room, not in suites that gave her bedroom and bathroom envy.
By the time she finished washing up, it seemed more like a normal night after a normal day. But it hadn’t been. She suspected tomorrow would be even stranger.
She stared at the connecting door to Richard’s bedroom. She wanted to rush in and demand answers or, worse, demand that he hold her and comfort her.
She went back into the main area of the suite where Daz and dinner awaited.
The food laid out included rich French dishes with buttery sauces and vegetables and, oh my, the wonderful bread, all set off with candlelight. Daz set the table with the dinner, lowered the lights and closed the curtains.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“To keep anyone from seeing inside. After today, I want to be careful.”
“I thought you were trying to be romantic.” She put her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“Call that a side benefit.” Unruffled as usual, Daz pulled up at chair and sat across from her. It was romantic, especially with the chandelier winking above them. Save she didn’t feel the least bit sexy or charmed.
She closed her eyes as she swallowed the first bite, savoring every taste, wondering when would be the next time she’d have a meal like this.
They ate in companionable silence for the most part, making only small talk about the food as the candlelight flickered lower. She finally pushed away her crème brûlée when she was only half-finished.
“That was excellent.” Daz drank down the second of his two beers and cleared off the table, putting the remains back on the portable cart the meal had been delivered on.
Daz drank directly from his beer bottle, of course. He had left the wine for her. Mindful of her exhaustion, she only had two glasses, but her head was still starting to swim. Just as well she was sitting in one of the dining room chairs, rather than on the comfy couch. She’d nod right off.
She pushed her chair away from the table and stood, bringing her plate over to the cart to help clean up.
“You were right. Recover first, worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Still, the French like to savor their food. Inhaling it like we did isn’t what they had in mind.”
“Hey, food is good.” Without asking, Daz refilled her wine glass.
She only sipped. He clinked his beer against her wine glass. She saluted him.
“This is nice. Romantic, even.”
“Hah. Aren’t you still angry with me for hiding my phantom ability?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “Instead, I’m re-evaluating you and what you can do.”
“What? I mean, why? What do you mean?”
“You saved my life back there.”
“That’s not what you said earlier. You said I put you in danger by keeping secrets.”
He set his hand on her shoulder and peered at her face. “And then you saved me by playing royal ghost. Not to mention opening the hidden door for us. You’re verging on awesome.”
She pushed his hand away. “Daz, I don’t… I’ve had more than I usually drink, I’ve been attacked today and I’m just not… Stop. Just stop.”
“Figures.” Daz sat back down in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
Wait, he’d been hitting on her, right? It seemed like he had been. And she’d said all the wrong things. Stupid, stupid. Not that she wanted to say yes. At least, she didn’t think so. Daz was attractive, but he felt more like a brother than a potential lover.
She sat at the table again too. Maybe he wasn’t hitting on her. Maybe he was just talking.
I wish I could go phantom right now and sink through the floor.
“What now?” he asked. “Since I see you’re not in the mood to be told you’re beautiful and awesome.”
Okay, that was definitely hitting on her. Whew. She had that right, at least. “I’m not feeling romantic. I’m feeling jittery and nervous and—”
“Not attracted to me at all.” He glared at her.
She laughed.
He scowled. “That’s not the reaction I usually get from women over a romantic dinner.”
She doubled over, unable to stop. “But…you…look like a little boy…with your hair over your eyes…and so angry…and so…cute!”
The words came all between laughs. She must stop this. Now. So embarrassing. There was nothing to be laughing about! What was wrong with her? She pushed her wine glass as far away from her as possible.
Daz walked over, turned her chair sideways and knelt in front of it. He put his hands on her knees.
“Easy, there, ghost, I think you’re coming down from battle.”
Her laughter stilled, as quickly as it had come. “What?”
“I thought maybe you were used to fighting with the ghost trick because you were so calm. But you’re one of those who have panic attacks after stuff, right?”
“I’m not used to fighting with the ghost trick! It’s used to avoid fighting. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“It’s okay, I do.”
“What does that mean? I’m not having a panic attack!” But she sure sounded panicked. Her voice was definitely high-pitched.
“Close enough. You’re coming down from an adrenaline rush.” He stood. “I thought maybe the drinks would help us both.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know it’d make you laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you. Just at the way you looked when I…”
“You called me cute!”
“But, but, but…you are cute!”
Daz rolled his eyes. “I guess you’re not even going to take me seriously no matter what I say.”
What did that mean? Maybe she did need more wine. No, that would probably make this worse.
“Take you seriously about what?”
“I was going to ask if you still trusted your client more than you trust me.”
She stood and put her wine glass down carefully. “How did we get from a quiet dinner to not having sex to whether I trust Richard more than you?”
“Damn. I’m fucking this up. Uh, sorry, pardon the language.”
“I’ve heard people swear before. I don’t care. What are you fucking up?”
Daz turned his back on her, went to the living area and settled himself on the easy chair. “Sit down and I’ll explain.”
“Use very small words because I’m not understanding much you’re saying right now.”
“I think you are. I’m talking about making real use of that phantom power of yours.”
“Real use? Like today?”
“No, not like today.” He gestured to the couch. “Will you please sit and talk to me? No more passes, I swear. Obviously, that was a mistake. I should’ve listened to Beth. She said you wouldn’t be interested. But you reminded me of someone, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“Beth said I wouldn’t be interested in you? Did she read my mind?”
“No, she said it was enough to see how you looked at mister prince.”
“Oh.”
“Will you please sit down instead of hovering?” he asked again.
He had said please. Marian sat on the couch and put her legs up.
“Daz, you’re saying I don’t understand what happened today. But I do. I know Richard saved our lives and kept us away from the police. That he knew of the secret passage beneath the abbey is confirmation that he’s exactly who he says he is, an immortal prince. As if you needed more confirmation, since you saw him heal a bullet wound just after you met him.”
“Oh, he’s definitely an immortal. I get that. But just because he told the truth about one thing, it doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth about everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“He and his people have a bad track record, and he knows more than he’s saying. Look how careful he was not to give out information on his Queen. He’s hiding something, probably about why he needs Rasputin’s healing ability.”
“Your telepath was satisfied after she did whatever she did to Richard. She said he was telling the truth. Why do you still doubt him?”
“Because I screwed up trusting someone against my instincts before and it cost the people I care about. And because Beth would be the first one to tell you her ability has limits. All reading his mind told her was that Richard was no immediate threat to us and he wasn’t involved in what his brother did to Drake and his family. To know all there is to know about Richard would have taken a lot longer.”
I believe Richard. But she didn’t say that out loud. Daz slumped in the chair and stared off into space.
“What do you mean about screwing up trusting someone, Daz?”
“I was hired by Lansing, the guy who raised Alec Farley. I was supposed to teach Alec combat and also instruct a hand-picked team how to back up a firestarter in a fight.”
This was what he and Richard had been fighting about on the plane. “And that was a mistake? Alec seems to trust you.”
“He shouldn’t. It was great training Alec, so great I turned a blind eye to how Lansing manipulated him. Damn, the things that kid can do. And he’s so earnest about it. Alec wants to help. I thought I was helping him, but I was just doing Lansing’s work.”
“How?”
“Lansing would never let Alec leave that facility. I was able to get Alec outside sometimes, for a little recreation, but Lansing had the kid brainwashed that he shouldn’t leave, that he was too valuable to go out on his own.”
“That sounds reasonable, I guess.”
“That’s what I told myself. But Lansing was just using Alec’s work with my team to train Alec for something bigger. Lansing figured we’d get the trust of the CIA and then he could make a move.”
“What kind of move?”
“Lansing wanted Alec to be the first of an army of powerful psychics—telekinetics and telepaths—who could help him control the world.”
She almost laughed again. No, once was enough. “That’s impossible. Isn’t it?”
“Maybe. It doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that was what Lansing wanted, and I turned a blind eye to it. Lansing needed Alec under his thumb, obeying what he said. And by training Alec, I helped Lansing. Because it sounded reasonable.”
But from what she’d seen of Alec and Daz, they were truly friends. “If you helped Lansing, why does Alec trust you? You must’ve done something right.”
“Because once Beth and Drake knocked reality into me, I backed Alec over Lansing. Alec forgave me. Just like that. I’m not going to let him down again.”
“You think helping Richard is letting Alec down?”
She rubbed her temples. She never thought she’d wish for her grandfather to tell her what to do. But that had been simple, unlike this. Except doing what her grandfather said wasn’t simple either. It just seemed that way because she hadn’t thought hard about smuggling artifacts, until after college.
Maybe that was a little like Daz and Lansing.
“It doesn’t matter what I think of Richard. I’m just along for the ride because prince boy was curious about me for some reason. What matters is what you think. This antiquities thing is your field. Does Richard feel off in what he wants? Is anything tripping you up?”
“Romanoff was my contact, not Richard’s. And it was Romanoff who sent us to the abbey, so presumably someone used Romanoff to set us up, and I don’t see how Richard managed any kind of double-cross, if that’s what you’re asking. Romanoff could’ve done it himself. But I don’t think so. He really wants that Elvis Cadillac I promised him.”
“But Richard could still be hiding the truth about what he knows about Rasputin.”
“Then why was he the one who insisted on interrogating the monk? It would’ve been easier to leave all of them and run if Richard knew who they were.”
“That just means he wasn’t expecting to be attacked. Maybe they double-crossed him.”
“You’re making my head hurt with all this talk of double-crosses. What happened to Occam’s Razor?”
“Yeah, well, I learned recently that the simplest explanation isn’t always the right one.”
Marian drew up her knees to her chin. “What exactly did Richard’s brother do?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“There hasn’t been a lot of time, and it’s obviously a sore subject with Richard. All I know is it involved a pregnant woman that Drake loves.”
Daz leaned forward on the edge of the chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “Edward Genet was fronting a company, with Lansing’s backing, that was doing genetic research on creating natural-born psychics. For some reason, they wanted to create a kid from Drake’s DNA, a kid who would not only be a self-healer but coul
d heal other people. It’s some sort of special telekinetic talent. They took Drake’s sperm without his permission. That was part of why he was so pissed.”
“What’s the other part?”
“They handpicked a woman for artificial insemination of their gene-gineered sperm. They kidnapped her, did the procedure and dumped her back home. They figured when they knew the insemination worked and she was pregnant, they’d grab her again. They didn’t expect Lansing to die or for Alec to stumble over the lab in his search of Lansing’s holdings, and they sure didn’t count on Drake being so protective of the woman they’d just medically raped. And they didn’t count on Del either.”
“Del?”
“The woman they inseminated. Drake’s wife now. Richard’s toast if Drake thinks he’s a threat to her still. Beth convinced him otherwise, at least for now.”
She needed an index for these people. “So why do you think Richard’s done something similar to his brother?”
“Why should I think he hasn’t? Beth may have gotten some of the truth out of him but Richard has the same goal as his brother: obtain DNA to create a psychic healer. I’d like to know why that’s so important.”
She had no answer. Daz made good sense.
“And now we’ve got monks attacking us, and I can’t help wonder if Richard knew what we were walking into.”
“You think we should pack up and leave Richard on his own.”
Daz frowned and shook his head. “Not me. I need to know what’s going on. I owe that to Alec. But, you, you should get the hell out of here.”
“Because I’m fragile and need protecting?”
“Because you don’t deserve being lied to like this.”
“You haven’t proven that he’s lying to me. I believe Richard. I accepted him as a client. He needs my contacts. And he needs my phantom ability too.”
“Not as much as other people might. You should join Alec at the Phoenix Institute. He’s been to helping those with powers learn to control them. It’s good, honest work. I was out in the Midwest a few months back, helping Beth teach a woman who literally turns herself invisible how to become visible again. I bet there’s someone out there who has something similar to your ghost power and could use your help. You’re one of us. That’s where you belong. Not at this immortal prince’s beck and call.”
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