He followed the angle of her eyes and pointed east. “Right over there.”
“The sun?” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Are you an anthropologist? Wildlife photographer?”
He shook his head.
“You’re not a mountain climber because you don’t have the right build.” Kiera pursed her lips. “They’re smaller as a rule. Broad shoulders, with all their weight focused in their arms and chest. You’re too tall. Your legs are probably even stronger than your arms.” She cleared her throat. “Just a theory, of course.” Suddenly self-conscious, she pushed the plate of scones toward him. “Feel free. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“The tea will be enough for me.”
“You don’t wear a watch. You don’t eat. Now I’m really curious.”
“Don’t bother. You’d find me very boring. But I see that you’re interested in Draycott Abbey.”
She tensed. “Why would you think that?”
Gently, he moved a paper out from beneath her knitting project. Kiera realized he had found her map of the surrounding county, part of a color handout from the local bookstore.
Unfortunately, she had folded the page so that the abbey lay right in the center. She might as well have burned her intentions on her forehead.
“Oh. You mean, this? The gardens looked somewhat interesting,” she said casually. “And I’ve always been a sucker for a good ghost story.”
“Ah, yes.” He studied the sheet filled with tourist information. “Did they mention the thirteen bells? And the eighth viscount, who is said to walk the abbey parapet on moonless nights?”
“Not that I remember.” Kiera pushed the folded paper away. “After a while all these grand houses begin to sound alike. Ghosts and traitors and spies.” She began to knit, determined to avoid the force of those gray eyes. “Do you know the place?”
“I more than know it,” he said quietly. Now Kiera was certain he was watching for her reaction.
Her heart missed a beat. “Don’t tell me that you…own it?”
“Me? No. I’m only working there.”
“What kind of work?”
“Outdoor work. Checking lines. Straightening out problems.”
“You’re no landscaper.”
“No, I’m not.” He leaned back, half of his face shadowed by a towering oak. “Would you like to see the grounds?” he asked abruptly.
She almost dropped her knitting needles. “No thanks. I’ve been on enough house tours.” She wanted to stand up, to run away. How had she been so careless as to leave that folded tour guide out on the table?
Because she’d only slept two hours the night before. Because she hadn’t expected to share her table for breakfast, Kiera thought crossly. She forced herself to stay right where she was and smile back at him. “No, I’m in the mood for bright lights. I’m headed for London tomorrow. Clubbing,” she lied.
Something told her he wasn’t the clubbing type.
When his lips tightened, Kiera saw that she had guessed right.
“Tomorrow? Then you have today. I’ll be an excellent guide. I’ll show you all the secret places, even where the treasure is hidden.”
“I’m not interested in treasure—or in secrets,” she said sharply.
But a voice whispered that this would be the answer to her prayers. One chance for a covert assessment, a check for major security obstacles to avoid later that night. She’d be a fool to refuse him.
“No,” she said huskily. “Thank you, but it’s really not on my list.”
“You would be making a mistake, Ms….” He paused, his eyes unreadable.
“Morissey. Kiera. And why would it be a mistake?”
“Because the abbey is glorious this time of year. The centifolia roses are just coming into bloom, and the air is full of their perfume. It’s impossible to describe. You need to experience it directly. Besides, aren’t you even a little curious?”
Kiera had the sharp sense that they were playing cat and mouse now. That he had picked up the details of her secret plan.
And that was completely impossible. “The roses sound lovely, but I’m going to take it easy today. I’ll sit here in the sun and knit.”
“Oh, my aunts definitely would have liked you,” he murmured.
“Calan?”
Kiera turned at the sound of footsteps. Silk rustled and ruthlessly high heels tapped across the tiled courtyard. A striking woman in a skintight suit that screamed Versace lasered toward the table.
“Calan, darling! What amazing luck to find you here.”
CHAPTER SIX
“WHENEVER DID YOU GET BACK?” The woman raced on breathlessly, not waiting for an answer. “And you didn’t even call me, you great vile creature.” With every word she pouted more, making her full scarlet lips look even bigger.
Silicone. The thought made Kiera a little smug. Also a little jealous. The feeling grew when the Scotsman stood in that way of graceful power and hugged the new arrival, who seemed to vibrate with pure animal satisfaction at their contact.
“Bad boy. You’ve lost weight. Lovely muscles, from what I can feel, however.” She ran long red nails along his tweed lapels. “How long has it been since Paris? Or was it Portofino?”
Kiera shifted restlessly, feeling far out of her element.
“Three years, Magritte. And it was Venice. You wore gold. I wore black.” His lips curved slightly. “It rained for a solid week.”
“I didn’t mind a second, darling. We had far too much to do inside to be bored.” Her voice fell, a husky caress. “You should have called me, you know.”
“Sorry. Work has kept me on the move.”
A little frown worked down the woman’s perfectly Botox-smoothed forehead when Calan stepped back, polite but resolute as he moved out of reach. She turned slowly and studied Kiera. “But you haven’t introduced me to your friend, Calan.”
He didn’t answer. Kiera sat up straighter.
She put down her knitting and held out a hand. “Kiera Morissey. How nice to meet you. Magritte, wasn’t it?”
“Magritte Campbell. But you are American.” She sounded surprised, slanting a look at Calan. “You hate Americans. You told me so yourself, during the dinner when that basketball team from Dallas got drunk and—”
Calan cut her off. “Don’t remind me of my rudeness, Magritte. Are you staying here at the hotel?”
“Here, in this threadbare outpost? Hardly. I was on my way to Norfolk when we had a puncture. Henry’s having it looked at now.”
Was Henry the husband, the lover or the chauffeur? Kiera wondered. Something brushed her leg and she looked down at a white Maltese dragging a rhinestone-encrusted gold leash. He sniffed at Kiera’s feet, then trotted to his owner, who scooped him up against her amply enhanced chest. “Rupert, there you are. You mustn’t go away like that, darling. I’ve told you a thousand times.”
But the dog didn’t seem to hear. He was staring alertly at Calan. The dog sniffed the air and its fuzzy white ears went back. It growled, low and anxiously, small teeth bared.
“Rupert, do stop that. It’s just Calan, you silly sod. He’s not going to hurt you.”
But the dog seemed to flatten, shivering in Magritte Campbell’s arms.
As if it saw something that left it very frightened. Kiera found the thought unsettling.
“Ms. Campbell, would you like some tea and a scone while you wait? I have plenty here, all of it delicious.”
“What a divine offer. I can see why you like her, Calan. But no, I’m sure that Henry will be by shortly. I don’t mean to interrupt your knitting…” Her eyes slanted measuringly at Calan. “Or to interrupt anything else you two were planning.”
“Put your antennae down, Magritte.” Calan smiled coolly. “Ms. Morissey and I had just met. We were discussing a visit to see Draycott Abbey.”
“Good heavens, it’s been years since I’ve visited the abbey. How are Nicholas and Kacey these days?”
“Very well. I’ll give hi
m your regards when I see him tomorrow.”
Kiera felt her heart pound. A buzzing filled her ears and she curled her fingers over the table’s edge. Suddenly Draycott Abbey felt too close, weighing ominously over her like a chill shadow. It was one thing to slip over the fence at night—and another to find herself face-to-face with the hated Draycotts.
“My dear, is something wrong? You’re very pale all of a sudden.”
Kiera leaned down quickly, glad to hide her face as she searched for her fallen needle. The table seemed to spin in a rush of dizziness. Dimly she heard the woman’s surprised voice, followed by Calan’s deeper pitch. His hand touched her wrist, skin to skin, and the whole patio seemed to lurch.
“Kiera—what’s wrong?”
She didn’t have a clue, but it was getting worse. “Sorry—don’t feel well all of a sudden.”
“Too many late nights, perhaps. Calan, let’s go outside for a walk and let her rest. We have so much catching up to do, after all.”
Kiera heard the breathy, seductive voice as if from a great distance. She gripped her yarn and needles, keeping her eyes on her hands to fight the sense of vicious spinning.
“…all right here?” The rough Scottish voice came and went. “…back before long.”
“F-fine. Go. Don’t need to stay,” she rasped.
She felt his hand touch her shoulder and then the two moved away, Magritte’s brittle inquiries filling the air as soon as they left the patio. She was inviting Calan to join her in Norfolk. Some kind of weekend theatrical party at her estate.
Kiera closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. Slowly the spinning began to fade. With the sun warming her face, she forced her hands to relax.
When she looked up, Calan was standing in the doorway watching her.
Just watching her. There was an intensity to him that should have made her uncomfortable.
For some reason it didn’t. It left her…awed.
Kiera saved that little anomaly to ponder later.
“Magritte?”
“Gone. She said to give you her regards. But let’s forget about Magritte, shall we?”
“She wouldn’t like being forgotten, I think.”
“Three minutes and you know her perfectly. Smart of you.” He leaned down, frowning. “How do you feel?”
“Better. I think.”
“You’re still too pale. What happened?”
“I don’t have a clue. Something in the food, maybe.” She took a slow breath, rubbing her neck. “Dogs don’t seem to like you very much. But I suppose Magritte made up for it with her enthusiasm.”
“She can be very…enthusiastic,” he said drily.
Kiera looked away. She refused to ask about any details of the time he had spent in Venice—or what happened afterward. It was absolutely none of her business.
“She’s a good soul, really, even if she hides it well under that painfully glossy exterior.”
Kiera decided to reserve her opinions on the woman who had clearly been Calan’s lover and seemed eager to be his lover again.
“Have some tea. It will settle your stomach.” A teacup pressed against her hands. “If you like, I can fetch the local doctor.”
“No need. I’m feeling better now.” She slanted him a glance, frowning. “You’re being very nice to me, Mr. MacKay.”
“Calan.”
“Calan then. And I never trust strangers who are too nice. My father taught us well.”
“Us? How many siblings are there?”
“Three. I’m the oldest. And we are not talking about me.” She pushed away her tea as the nausea struck again. Without warning the courtyard spun violently. Her fingers opened, clenched on the table.
“Look, you should be in bed, resting. I’ll help you to your room.”
For once, Kiera agreed with him. She stood stiffly, only to stagger at another wave of dizziness.
Calan cursed softly. The next thing Kiera knew, she was pressed against his chest, his arms tight around her. “I’m getting a doctor,” he said flatly. “You’ve gone completely chalky. Kiera, can you hear me?”
Just barely, half swallowed by the hammer of her blood. “S-sick. I am never sick,” she said through gritted teeth. His touch seemed to make her dizziness worse. She shoved at his hands, trying to stand up. “Put me down. I refused to be carried around like—like a child.”
“Then don’t act like a child. Was there ever a woman so prickly?” He caught her fist and settled it against her chest. “Relax. I’ll have you at your room in a minute.”
Kiera stiffened. “How do you know which room is mine? I never told you that.”
His eyes darkened. “I asked the desk attendant. I wanted to see if you were traveling with a husband—or a lover. I don’t poach.”
Poach.
As in trap someone else’s property. “That’s downright medieval. I’m not anyone’s property. Put me down.” She clenched her teeth, fighting more nausea.
He sighed. “Fine. Since you appear to have the temper of an Asian water buffalo. In heat.”
Her feet touched the ground. Kiera felt her body slide slowly across his, thigh to thigh. If she hadn’t been fighting dizziness the experience would have been distinctly intriguing. Even erotic.
But dizziness claimed all her attention as she stepped away from him. She could do this. All it required was focus and willpower. Her sisters always claimed that she had too much of both.
She took a careful step, then another. “See. I’m fine. Thank you for your help and concern, but I’m going now.”
“You’re sure?” He sounded far from convinced, Kiera thought.
“Absolutely.” She stopped abruptly and grabbed a chair as another round of dizziness struck.
She heard him mutter. To his credit, he didn’t harangue or say I told you so. All he did was pick her up in one powerful movement and stride along the cobbled walk to her room. He stopped at the threshold. “Give me your room key.”
His voice was clipped, distinctly impersonal now. Reassured by this distance, Kiera searched her bag and held out the key. He shifted her in his arms, opened the door with his foot and strode inside. He settled her on the room’s small bed, pulled off her shoes and spread a quilt over her. “I’ve put a full glass of water here by the nightstand. If you need me, call. I’ll be nearby.”
Her eyes slitted open. “Outside? But why—?”
“Stop arguing with me,” he said. “And I warn you, if you aren’t better in an hour, I’m going for the doctor. Whether you like it or not.”
Damned officious man.
Kiera realized she must have said the words aloud because she heard him chuckle as he closed the door.
RESTLESS, CALAN PACED the deserted parking area beside the hotel. The irritating woman had twelve more minutes. If she wasn’t better by then, he was calling in a doctor. She’d been sheet-white and shaking when he’d put her on the bed, and her pulse had been racing. He’d given her all the time she was getting.
But first he had a phone call to make. Nicholas Draycott would be impatient for news and updates. After scanning the nearby area, he fingered his cell phone, and called Nicholas’s private line.
The viscount answered on the second ring. “About time. I was preparing to call out the cavalry.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I doubt it. I like to have a few cards up my sleeve. Where are you?”
“Here and there.” Calan frowned. “Do you have the name of a local doctor?”
“Are you hurt? Blast it, you should have—”
“Not for me. Someone else. I’ll explain next time we talk.” Calan wrote down the contact information, then shoved the paper into his jacket pocket. “I’ve made some headway on that car. They’ve been back and forth near a large port, somewhere that handles a great deal of seafood—shrimp largely. I can give you a tire size and type, as well as the direction they were headed when I lost their tracks. The syringe used in the attack we discussed is in a plastic bag on your
desk, ready for analysis.”
“I’ll send a courier. Tracing the injection will be helpful. How are you feeling now?”
“Disgustingly healthy.” Calan frowned at the memory of his initial disorientation and the powerful effects of the drug. “But someone else might not have been so lucky. I’m convinced you or your family were the targets. You’ve got them under a twenty-four-hour security net?”
“All arranged. I’ve brought in a private contact. He’s working as we speak.”
“I hope that he’s good enough. These people seem tough and committed, Nicholas.”
“He’s as good as I’ve ever met. He watched my back in Asia and he took a beating for it. But nothing cracked him, not ever.”
Calan felt some of his anxiety recede. “I’m glad to hear you’ve taken precautions. Next point—I’d like all the information you can find about a leased Mini Cooper, 2007 model.” Calan rattled off the plate number.
“Driver’s name?”
“Kiera Morissey. That could be an alias, but I don’t think so. See when she entered the country and where she’s been. Full work and medical background would be helpful. Friends and family, too.”
“Is there anything I should know about this woman, Calan? Since I’ll be digging deep, I’d like to know why and how many favors I should call in.”
Calan stared at the door of room fifteen. Something about her continued to bother him.
Her face. The way she talked.
But now the angle of the sun above the country hotel told him that Kiera’s time was up. “Not yet, Nicholas. Let me decide how the pieces fit together first. I’ll check back within the hour, but in the meantime it would be best if you sent anything you have directly to my computer.”
“So I’m finally to be given an actual e-mail address?” Nicholas said wryly.
“It will work this month. I’ll be in touch, Nicky. Now I’d better go.” He waited a moment. “Keep your head down.”
“Same goes for you.”
CALAN STALKED up the narrow path to Kiera’s room, prepared for anger, distrust and outright rebellion.
Instead, Kiera answered the door looking calm, rested—and beautiful. Not that her beauty matched that of a fashion model. Her brows were too thick and her cheeks were too angular. But her face pulsed with color, and strength radiated in her eyes. She was arresting and her full mouth was enough to drive even a sane man to his knees.
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