The Perfect Gift

by Christina Skye

  “Newsflash, MacNeill: there are no princes. There are only princesses with bad eyesight and frogs who are excellent at concealing the extent of their imperfections.”

  He held her a moment longer than necessary—and a hell of a lot longer than he should have. “We’re going to have to work on that pessimism of yours,” he said roughly. “Now sit and don’t move. Not for anyone or anything, understand? Not until I get back. And keep Max reasonably quiet.”

  “All right, but I still don’t understand why—”

  The car door gently closed, and the leaves parted.

  Maggie realized she was talking to empty space.

  IT WAS ALL TOO FAMILIAR, JARED THOUGHT GRIMLY. Damn it, how had he gotten back into the work that had nearly killed him?

  Because a friend needed a favor, and you don’t refuse a friend.

  Especially not if he’s the man who saved your life.

  He hugged the ground, silent and wary. His old skills were coming back, along with the biting adrenaline high. He wished he didn’t remember the sensation so well.

  At least tonight he brought certain new skills to the table, skills that most people would deny even existed.

  Jared took a deep breath and listened to the night.

  Listened.

  Became one of the silent night creatures.

  To his left, a wary rabbit slid back into its narrow burrow. To his right, an owl clung to a high branch, implacable and patient with the certainty that comes only with great age and many kills.

  Jared felt their presence—just as he stretched his senses to find the man sitting behind the wheel of the car parked beyond the narrow stone bridge. Jared heard him curse, shove open the car door, then glance at his watch.

  Moonlight struck the outline of his badge.

  Or what was meant to look like a badge.

  Jared crept closer, one more shadow in the restless night. When the officer lit a cigarette, light brushed his face briefly.

  In silence Jared worked his way behind a hedge, where he was close enough to scan the license plate.

  2A61D.

  He memorized the string, then inched toward the far door. Somewhere the owl hooted, sighting his prey. For a split second Jared felt the keen eyes move through the forest and then the great wings opening. Higher, flushed with killing instinct, the great bird soared, then dropped down, talons bared to cleave cold space.

  A strike. Claws thrusting deep into fur and quivering muscle.

  Jared imagined each detail as he crouched unmoving by the unmarked police car.

  He looked down and realized his fingers were buried in the soft earth. His back and shoulders were taut, and his pulse hammered in his ears. With angry determination, he focused on the job before him.

  Across the clearing the officer dropped his cigarette and ground it out beneath his boot. Jared realized he would get no more information here. He was melting back into the night by the time the policeman turned back to his lonely post.

  Maggie peered into the darkness. Wind touched the bushes and sighed through the high hedges. Somewhere a bird called shrilly. But there was no sign of Jared.

  Where in heaven’s name was he?

  It had to have been twenty minutes since he’d left. Maybe even more. She tried not to conjure up images of danger. After all, the night was quiet and this was a peaceful English road, not some powder-keg war zone in a third world dictatorship.

  She bent her head to Max’s warm face. “It’s safe, isn’t it, Max? I’m just a big fool to sit here worrying.” The puppy gave her a forceful lick and shook his stubby tail.

  Right, she thought. That’s just what she’d said before the backhoe came careening out of the night and before she noticed her room had been searched. And if nothing was wrong, why didn’t Jared come back?

  When a hand closed over her leg, she almost screamed. Branches brushed her face as a figure crawled close and crouched down beside her.

  “J-jared, is that you?”

  “You were expecting someone else?”

  Relief flared at the sound of that rough whisper. “What took you so long?”

  “I had to answer some questions. I told you to wait in the car.”

  “I was restless. Is it…him?”

  “Not unless he’s a better actor than I thought.”

  Maggie’s breath slid out in a hiss of relief. “Thank God.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “C-cold.” A lie, of course. She’d been terrified. Too busy painting bleak 3-D scenarios of what could have happened to him.

  “Come here.” He eased her against his chest and pulled the fallen tartan around her shoulders. Even then she couldn’t relax, and her hands were locked to fists.

  “Talk to me, Maggie.” He ran his fingers along her cheek. “Where are all those inventive insults when I need them?”

  She drew a jerky breath. “I’m fine, okay? J-just fine. And I wasn’t worried. Not a bit. Not even when you took forever and I saw an owl fly right over my head and you didn’t come back.” With a choked sound she turned, her gaze locked on his face. “I thought he’d found you. I thought you’d never come back.” Slowly her hands rose. “I thought…” Her hands slid against his chest, shaking hard.

  “I’m here. I came.” Jared felt her touch sizzle like live electricity. Through her open hands came the churning storm of her fear in cold, smoky waves.

  Strange how often emotions could be reduced to strong colors. And right now those colors were all over him, radiant as living things.

  He frowned. Damned if he was going to slip any deeper into her feelings. The intensity of touch always left him drained, exhausted, and tonight for some reason it was far worse.

  Because this was Maggie, because she turned him inside out in spite of all his noble resolutions.

  He forced his mind back, focusing on the moving world around them. Restless trees. Damp earth. Wind from the east with a hint of coming rain. Don’t slip into her mind, fool. Don’t give in to temptation and ride down deep, no matter how much you want to find out how many other men there have been and how they hurt her.

  “Jared, what is it? What’s wrong?” She was very still, staring at him, one palm open against his chest. That simple touch was enough to hold him in torment while her thoughts blazed naked through his head.

  “Jared?”

  The touch was burning him, twisting him inside out. He had to force his jaw to move. “Wrong?”

  “You weren’t moving, almost not breathing. Are you sick?”

  Sick. How he wished it were so simple. Then a simple prescription could return his life to order. No more brushing against strangers in a crowded room and feeling the agonizing slam of their chaotic thoughts. No more sensing what people would say before they said it.

  Focus. Remember all the ways you’ve learned to control this thing you do.

  He took a hard breath and let it out slowly.

  “I’m not sick.” Not in a way she or any doctor would recognize.

  “Then what’s wrong? If it’s not the man from London out there, we’re safe, aren’t we?”

  He looked at the shadows dappling her smooth cheeks. Without even trying, he read the fear that climbed in her chest.

  Fear of losing him.

  With a silent curse he twisted away, forcing the contact closed. He had no right to jaunt through her mind and pick up secrets. Some things were still sacred.

  At least they should be.

  “Jared?”

  “I want to be sure it’s not someone else sent to harm you,” he said tightly. “A few calls should do exactly that.” He pulled at his back pocket and activated a small cellular phone.

  “Are you calling the police?”

  “Someone better.”

  “Lord Draycott, you mean?”

  “No.”

  Static hummed, and then a groggy voice answered. “Do you have the faintest idea what time it is, Jared?”

  Jared muffled a chuckle. “All too well.
Sorry to rouse you, Izzy, but I need some answers.”

  Instantly his friend’s sleepy tone vanished. “What kind of system? Corporate, private, or institution?”

  “Institution. I need an auto plate verified.”

  “Give me a few seconds to get inside.”

  “No traces, remember?”

  The man on the other end sniffed. “As if I ever leave traces.” A keyboard clicked swiftly. “What’s the number?”

  Jared repeated the string he had memorized.

  At the other end of the line Jared’s friend made a swift set of entries, then gave a low whistle. “You neglected to mention that this is an official plate.”

  “How official?” Jared asked quietly.

  “Sussex Police Force. You know they have secure systems.”

  “That should slow you down for all of about three minutes.”

  With a soft laugh, Izzy clicked out a new string of entries. “Code is only as good as its designers. And it happens that I know most of them. Late at night at a software trade show people talk. There’s an irresistible urge to brag about a recent bit of genius in a new code string. And with a little nudging g..” His breath caught, and a delighted chuckle drifted over the line. “Bingo, we’re in. Now let’s see what’s here. Two vehicles out for repair. Four registered for transfer. Here’s the active list. No. No. No. No.” More clicking. “Got it. Registered for official use.”

  “Any internal list to show the current driver?”

  Fingers tapped. “Tonight must be your lucky night, Mac. It’s registered to a Detective-Sergeant Wakeford.”

  “First name?”

  “Adam.”

  “Thanks, Izzy. That’s all I need for now, along with the main switchboard number.”

  “I won’t even think of asking why. Here it is.”

  Jared scrawled down the number, smiling faintly. “Get some sleep, Izzy. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  “It already is the morning,” his friend muttered before ringing off.

  “What was that all about?” Maggie whispered.

  “The vehicle on the road is officially registered to the Sussex Police Force. That much checks out. Now we determine if it’s where it should be. And with the right person.”

  “You think the officer might be some kind of imposter?” Jared could sense her shaping questions and inching away from the dark possibilities that came as answers.

  “It’s possible. Until I’ve ruled out the possibility, we’re staying right here.”

  He waited for her to protest, but this time she was silent. She looked off to the north, where the dark towers of the abbey were visible against the greater blackness of the sky. “You’re right. I only wish you weren’t.”

  He put his hand on her cheek. “I wish I weren’t too.”

  He pulled away before her emotions registered too clearly, and then he dialed a new number. Static gave way to a precise male voice.

  “Sussex Police.”

  “I would like to report a suspicious automobile parked on my property.”

  “Name and location?” The question was clearly routine.

  “Lord Draycott. The driver and car are parked at the end of my drive here at Draycott Abbey.”

  There was a momentary hesitation. Papers shuffled. “Are you calling from the property right now, Lord Draycott?”

  “I am.”

  “Would you please identify the license plate of the vehicle in question?”

  Jared repeated the string he had given to Izzy.

  “I see.” The officer cleared his throat. “As it happens that is one of our cars, Lord Draycott. After your earlier request for a police presence, we sent a man over immediately.”

  Jared sat back slowly. “My…earlier request.” He took a short breath, thinking hard. “That was most prompt of you. I confess, you’ve caught me off guard. I’m very sorry to have troubled you.”

  “Nothing to worry about, my lord. Anything else I can do for you?”

  “I have two guests coming in tonight. In fact they should be arriving any moment. I’d appreciate it if you’d pass their names on to your officer: Jared MacNeill and Margaret Kincade. Do you have that?”

  “I’ll radio the information through right now. Wouldn’t want any false arrests.”

  “Absolutely not.” Once in a night was more than enough, Jared thought irritably. “By the way, I’d like the name of your man on duty. Just to thank him properly.”

  “Detective-Sergeant Adam Wakeford. Let us know if you have any more problems, my lord.”

  “Indeed, I shall. Good night to you.”

  Jared rang off, staring out into the rushing darkness. There was no possibility that Nicholas Draycott had called for police presence, without notifying Jared first. He would phone Nicholas in London later to be sure, but Jared had no doubt that someone had set up this little scenario as a warning—and a demonstration of exactly how clever and well informed he was. No doubt it was their friend from London, once again proving he could stay a step ahead in the twisted game he had initiated.

  Jared closed the cellular phone and shoved it back into his pocket. Suddenly the night’s silence had turned threatening.

  “He checked out?” Maggie wiggled closer. “Is it okay to go inside now?”

  There was a leaf dangling from her hair, and her eyes were huge. Jared felt a wave of anger tear through him. He had underestimated their enemy back in London, but he would not make the same mistake again. “He checked out perfectly.”

  “But why is the police car here?”

  “It seems Nicholas called him.”

  Maggie frowned. “And he didn’t tell you? That doesn’t sound like something he would do.”

  She was too sharp, Jared thought. “He probably tried to call, but the phone was out of range. It happens quite often, I’m afraid.”

  She looked down at her locked hands. “I…see.”

  She didn’t believe him. Jared could feel the tension emanating from her, half hidden beneath her exhaustion.

  He turned away, careful not to touch her again. He didn’t want to feel her thoughts. Right now he didn’t even want to feel his own.

  Detective-Sergeant Adam Wakeford was young and tired. He lurched from his car as Jared eased up the drive toward the bridge. One hand locked anxiously on his belt as Jared rolled down his window.

  “Officer Wakeford, I believe?”

  “That’s correct. And you would be whom?”

  “Jared MacNeill. This is Ms. Kincade. Lord Draycott phoned for you to expect us.”

  Some of the stiffness left the officer’s shoulders. He peered briefly inside the car, then nodded. “Go right on up, Mr. MacNeill. It’s all quiet out here. No sign of any trouble tonight.” He stifled a yawn, clearly irritated at a useless assignment.

  Jared wished he felt half so confident. He maneuvered the long, twisting drive, remembering other nights and other visits to the grand old abbey.

  Quiet dawns. Lazy afternoons of silence spent trying to recuperate after Thailand.

  He looked at Maggie, who was bravely struggling to keep her eyes open. “Right now all you have to do is fall into bed and sleep until you feel like waking. I’ll bring up your bags.”

  “Sounds like heaven to me,” she mumbled, hiding a yawn.

  They stopped before the weathered granite walls of the gatehouse. Moonlight dusted the windows and lay like snow across the quiet courtyard.

  Maggie looked behind her. “Fortunately, there don’t appear to be any madmen in backhoes jolting up the drive.” She opened her door and started toward the house, one bag under her arm.

  “I’ll take that,” Jared muttered, shifting Max.

  “Thank you, Jared. Right now I’m too tired to fight.” She frowned. “But I do want the truth. So maybe in the morning you’ll tell me the real reason that police car was waiting down by the bridge.”

  DAMASK ROSES IN CUT CRYSTAL VASES.

  What appeared to be genuine Constable landscapes
on the wall by the French doors.

  Maggie took a long, slow breath. “Looks like you’re not in Kansas anymore,” she whispered to an empty room. She was edgy and she could have told herself it was from the emotional backlash of the last two nights, but Maggie knew the source lay in this ancient home, in the aura that clung to every corner and casement. Even a person with no imagination could feel the weight of history in rooms where kings had plotted and wars had been launched. Here long generations of Draycotts must have dabbled in court intrigues from rooms with secret tunnels for swift escapes.

  Maggie sank slowly back into the antique poster bed. Draycott Abbey was still powerfully compelling, but so far there had been no more strange lapses of awareness.

  So far.

  Wind brushed her neck, and she turned to see a sleek form pacing over the floor. The gray cat moved with regal poise, his amber eyes keen and unblinking.

  “I hope I’m not taking your room.” Here in the abbey’s unbroken stillness, it seemed perfectly normal to speak to a cat. “Where did you come from, by the way?” As if in answer, the French door creaked open, pale curtains floating out in a ripple of cold air from the balcony.

  The cat stopped beside the bed and stared up at Maggie, almost as if waiting for an invitation.

  “Be my guest.”

  The bright eyes blinked. Ears back, the creature jumped onto the silk coverlet, circled once, then sank into a ball.

  As a rule, Maggie wasn’t a cat lover, but there was something different about this one. Like the rest of the great house, he seemed keen. Still. Waiting…

  All of which was clearly impossible. She had simply gone too long without a decent rest, and her nerves were in a state of meltdown. That was the only sensible explanation for this odd fantasy she was weaving about a simple cat.

  Except that looking into those unblinking amber eyes, Maggie had the definite impression this was far more than a simple cat.

  She turned as Jared appeared at the door, barefoot and minus his jacket. To Maggie’s disgust he looked good enough to eat.

  “I see you’ve met the abbey’s real lord and master.”

  “The cat? He certainly does make himself at home. I hope this wasn’t his room.”

  “Every room at the abbey is his, according to Nicholas and Kacey. Good thing I left Max back in my room. I’ve had enough excitement for one night.” He bent to the bed. “Yes, my big friend, you’re special and you know it, don’t you?”