by Zoe Forward
“Porqué me tengo que ir?” Why do I need to leave? His interest in her registered subzero, but he was bored.
“Usted está haciendo que todos los demas chicos se vean mal.” You’re making all the other guys look bad.
He rolled his eyes. In English he replied, “Is that truly the best you could come up with?”
She flashed a wide, unapologetic smile. “Ah, American. So, what do you say? Shall we go somewhere private?” Whatever minty breath enhancement she used failed to mask a smoking binge. Women smokers? Unusual. And repulsive.
As her hand smoothed up his forearm, his stomach lurched. He swallowed hard when bile stung the back of his throat.
She managed to purr over the eardrum blistering electronic music, “Let’s go outta here.”
Ethan grumbled, “Tell her to go away.”
Dakar frowned in his direction, shocked by his rudeness. He enfolded the woman’s hands in his. “My lady, I thank you for your interest. You are beautiful and any man in this bar would be honored to be with you. I appreciate your brazen attitude, but I must decline. Let this not reflect upon you. My heart was committed long ago, and there will be no other woman for me.” With relief, he released her hands. And prayed she wouldn’t touch him again.
Her face softened. She placed her palm against his cheek. “I understand.” She gave him a peck with her puffy lips on the opposite cheek and left.
Ethan stared a mute what-the-hell?
Dakar shrugged, what?
Ethan said, “Here I thought Christian was good with women. That was amazing. I’ve never seen someone turn down a hooker, and then she gives him a kiss while telling him it’s okay.”
“A hooker?” Dakar frowned.
“Prostitute.” Ethan’s sympathy-face made him want to pummel him into a bloody pulp.
“She was a whore?” Damn it, he hated this century where he couldn’t even detect something as simple as a proposition.
“Yeah. Top quality, but still wants to be paid at the end of the night.”
“I need air.” As he pushed away from the table, his stomach rumbled.
He exited the beachfront bar and walked toward the dark beach, but halted more than a hundred yards from the water. The water didn’t fail to repel him. The relative quiet with only a few loners and the rhythmic rise and fall of waves comforted—a vast improvement from the bar.
A presence slid beside him. Female. Shit.
She was tall at what had to be close to six feet. He performed a peripheral scan. Her blonde hair was stylized into a tight, long ponytail. The unflattering loose jeans and T-shirt created a mannish impression. He recognized her as the girl Kane had wanted them to avoid earlier today. Astrid.
Great. He bet this was not Ashor’s ideal going-unnoticed scenario.
This is what he got for going into a tavern. All magi attracted danger-seeking women like flies to shit.
He grumbled, “I am not interested.”
“Good. Me neither,” she replied.
He was done being nice to approaching women tonight. “Then why do you have an interest in me?”
“That was kind, what you did for that hooker.”
He shrugged, wishing she’d disappear and more than a little disturbed she’d been watching him.
“Most aren’t so nice.” There was sadness in her voice.
“You have some shadows in your past?”
Her turn to shrug and keep answers to herself.
“Please, tell me what you want, and then I would appreciate being alone right now.”
“You’re military trained. Who do you work for and what are you doing here?”
At least she was honest and direct. “Why do you suspect I have military training?” Based on her calculated head-to-chest inspection, he was on her potential kidnapper suspect list.
“The way you move. The fact there’s not even an ounce of flab or fat on your body. The way you scanned the area. I bet you can tell me exactly how many people are on this beach around us.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. ’Tis safer to know who surrounds you.” They stared silently at the ocean in uncomfortable silence. His stomach rumbled loudly.
She chuckled. “Hungry?”
“I…forgot funds.”
“Let me buy you something to eat?”
“I will be fine. I prefer to be alone.”
“Then, tell me why you’re in Costa Rica.”
“Holiday.”
“What have you done so far on your vacation other than rebuff hookers and watch your friends get hook-ups?”
Damn, she was good, trying to trap him in a lie. What did one do in this century on holiday? “Ocean things. Jungle things.”
“That thrilling, huh? Why not join your friends and get laid?”
Were all women so crude in this century? “I’m not searching for a liaison.”
“Relationship go sour recently?”
He shrugged, staring out over the ocean.
“I’m sorry…about the bad relationship, that is.”
“How can you feel sorrow for me? We are not familiar with each other.” He scowled, hoping she’d get the message to leave him the hell alone.
“Seriously, I will buy you something to eat.” She held up her hands. “I really don’t want anything from you.”
“That’s bullshit, but I accept your offer.” His need for sustenance eclipsed all other needs. He only hoped he could avoid a public episode.
“There’s a street vendor still open across the street.”
The wrinkled, dark-skinned street vendor shot him a toothy grin when they approached. As his hand waved over his desiccated food offerings, a few flies took flight. Now this he could handle. This was old world. He pointed to a meat-stuffed flat bread and a fried breaded pastry.
Astrid haggled the price, eventually settling and handed over money. As she handed over the food, she commented, “This may be guaranteed to give you the runs tomorrow.”
The runs? “Thank you.” He wolfed down the food in a few seconds, his stomach screaming relief.
“Can’t have you starving to death down here.”
“What do you really want from me? I’m afraid that I cannot accompany you back to your room, no matter how beautiful you are or how much you bribe me with food.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I meant what I said. Not interested.” Her eyes widened. “Crap.”
Dakar spotted Kane striding up the block. “Is he your man?”
“No. He is work related.”
“I think he has spied both of us. Otherwise, I would volunteer to disappear.”
Kane stomped up with an air of possession that reminded Dakar of a bonded magus. Dakar leaned against the wrought iron fence behind him.
Kane demanded of Astrid, “What are you doing with him?”
Astrid angled an eyebrow upward and made a little hand signal.
Kane snorted. “I guarantee he is not a suspect. I already cleared him and his friends.”
“You sure? I get a weird vibe. We may want to question him.”
Kane pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re an independent team from Europe tracking one of the missing kids.” He shot a beseeching glance at Dakar who interpreted it as play along.
“He looks more like a contract merc to me than covert ops.”
“They’re private contractors. But not mercs.”
“Damn it, why didn’t you tell me they were in the area?”
“I just figured it out. This group is known for, uh, hooking up with locals.” Kane pointed at Dakar. “She’s off limits to you.”
“Is that because you have already staked a claim?” Dakar asked.
Kane’s face lit up like a cooked lobster.
Astrid stared wide-eyed at Kane, her surprise evident.
Dakar chuckled. “My advice to you two is that this life is far too short not to, if the desire is there.”
“We’ve never and we’re not,” Astrid dec
lared.
Dakar did a slight bow. “I thank you, Astrid, for providing me food. I shall not forget your kindness.” As he departed he overheard her whisper, “How the hell did he know my name?”
Chapter Six
Durham, North Carolina
“You sure you’re well enough to be back, Ms. McGinnis?” Professor Stephen Levin asked. He didn’t fit the stereotypical professorial mold. Even the reading glasses didn’t detract from his singular beauty. Although she knew he had to be much more than early fifties, he’d aged well. He was well manicured, tan, and not a strand of gray dared to threaten his blond head. Only the deep grooves around his mouth and eyes suggested age. Surrounding him were many photos of his triathlons. His pride and joy was his completion of the Hawaii Ironman with his partner, David, a few years ago.
“I’m doing well enough.” Shay shifted in the chair that faced her advisor’s desk. Great, he used her last name. That meant he was about to get fatherly. They’d been on a first name basis since their initial meeting four years ago. His concern over her appearance must register high. She resisted the urge to smooth a hand over her newly plasticized face, and the bandage near her left ear.
“What did you find in Cartagena?”
Based on his squinty-eye contemplative stare, he wanted the full story of what had landed her in the coma. She didn’t plan to recite that tale, particularly since her memory was as holey as Swiss cheese. Patching together the pieces of what happened in the church had been difficult. The only reason she elected to brave the expected interrogation from him was for information. Info she knew was somewhere in his head. The problem was getting it from him. He was a wildly guarded man, especially when it came to myth, lore, and the weird.
He waved at her body. “You look a little pale and you’re too thin. Maybe I should take you out for a cheeseburger.”
“You try being in a coma for a month and living off IV food.” She’d been transferred from South America to the university hospital a little over a week ago. Doctors labeled her recovery miraculous, given that she’d been in a coma for almost four weeks in Cartagena. And woke up within twenty-four hours after transport.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” Shay touched her hand self-consciously along the left side of her face, which still flaunted vivid scars hidden beneath the bandage she’d applied earlier. Her left eye had developed a cataract secondary to the trauma. Despite the surgery they’d performed to remove the clouded lens in South America, the eye remained non-visual. The implanted lens gave her left eye an eerie lighter green hue than the right. She’d hidden like a hermit for the past few days since her hospital release, hating the odd stares her healing face attracted. But her need for intel drove her to meet with her advisor.
He took a sip from his oversized plastic to-go cup and asked, “What can I do for you?”
“I have a question about something related to my research project.”
“You discovered something new about magi in South America? Did you find the relic or jewelry piece you were looking for?”
“I’m close to proving they existed, but I didn’t quite get the proof I needed.”
“Ready to tell me what happened in Cartagena?”
“I told you before when you visited the hospital. I got mugged and then they threw me into the water.”
“Really?” He looked at her over the top of his reading glasses, clearly skeptical.
“I did see something odd while I was down there.” She chewed on her lower lip.
“Does it have to do with the pyramid symbol and ring that you were researching? Sounded like you were close to a lead.”
“Sort of. I was at Kent Spieler’s dig site just outside the city, and they were finding some interesting pottery shards. One of the shards I was most interested in had a logo similar to the pyramid symbol. A guide told me a church in Cartagena had a captain’s log with an entry describing the symbol and a piece of jewelry.”
“So, you went to look. Is that when you had your little incident?” He waved at her face.
“Sort of.”
“Like that phrase, don’t you?”
“I did go to the church. It was locked, but I got in. I just didn’t have time to wait since I was scheduled to go south to the other dig site the next day. When I entered I saw something. I just don’t know if it was real or a hallucination because of my head injury.”
“You picked the lock? And broke in?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“I don’t think so.” An image of him floated through her mind as it had about every few minutes since she’d awaken from the coma. Long black hair with fine streaks of a lighter color flowed over thickly muscled shoulders. And that tat on his fierce face—stylized hieroglyphs. She didn’t understand why she’d been compelled to help him with the monster he fought, or why she couldn’t stop worrying over what had happened to him.
“Sha-aay.”
Oh, boy. A two-syllable name meant he was ticked off.
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “This is almost as bad as when you broke into the restricted area at the Cairo museum. That took months to smooth over.”
“I did not break into the storage area. I simply slipped in before the door locked.”
“Semantics. Your recklessness almost got you killed this time.” He paused to purse his lips and glare disapproval.
Reckless. A new one to add to her ever-growing list from him. What else had he called her over the past three years? Impetuous, impatient, rash. That Cairo incident earned her a whopper, hot-headed. And a twenty-minute diatribe on the virtue of restraint and going through proper channels.
He exhaled loudly. “Although I’d love to think this episode will teach you to be cautious, I somehow doubt it. Exercise some self-control next time. Please. So, what did you see when you got into the church?”
Her magnificent warrior she refused to discuss. Anytime she thought of him, her body’s core temperature rose. She silently cursed and reminded herself that beautiful men equaled disaster for her. Look where meeting him landed her.
But he’d been amazing when he’d easily swung a hefty, curved-bladed sword that, based on her research, looked like a Middle Eastern scimitar. She’d been dying for a better look at the black blade before she glimpsed what the hot guy was fighting. In a moment of insanity, she’d run at the orc-like creature he fought to distract it, somehow knowing he would regain the sword he’d lodged into the side of the building after a miss-swing.
She still couldn’t recall exact details beyond that point. Apparently, it hadn’t worked out in her favor.
Stephen cleared his throat.
“Sorry. There was this creature in the church that looked like a Middle Earth orc, but on steroids. Grayish greasy skin, but gigantic and pumped. The smell in the air around it was awful. It had that decaying sulfur odor of a sewage treatment plant. I’m sorry this sounds so stupid. Likely I’ve just seen too many movies and had some sort of coma-induced hallucination.” She chanced a glance toward Stephen when she heard the metallic clink of his pen hitting the floor.
Based on his ashen hue and frozen features, Shay figured he believed her. She had expected skepticism.
Softly, he asked, “Is that what put you in the hospital?”
She shrugged noncommittally. “Was it real? What could it have been?”
“Best to forget you ever saw it and know that some god is watching out for you. We’ll find a new project for your thesis. Maybe you should look into something in North America or Europe. Something definitely not Egyptian.”
“What was that thing? Please don’t bullshit me. I’ve been through a lot since I saw it.”
He leaned back in his chair and blew out a long sigh. “I think it might have been a daemon. I’ve never seen one, but we’ve both read about them.”
“As in the fictional supernatural evil spirit in the magi legend?”
“There is always som
e truth to ancient legends.”
“What does that mean? There are actually daemons out there? By inference, that means you believe magi do exist. I thought you were my number one skeptic.”
“You never know,” he answered evasively.
“So, there might be someone alive that knows about magi?”
“Probably not.”
“Then, who could tell me more about this creature I saw?”
“People who invoke dark magik, I’d imagine.”
“Magik? Like who? Witches or druids?”
“Shay, forget about it. Anything to do with daemons and the people that play with that type of magik is dangerous. I absolutely forbid you from seeking out people like that. I’m afraid I don’t know any more than written myth.”
“You can’t ground me like you’re my father.” Was he lying about how much he knew? The weird new tattoo on her arm moved and squeezed. Not painful, but somehow she understood the answer to her question. Yes, he lied. She massaged her arm in the location of the bizarre living tattoo. Her motivation to find out who knew about the orc-like creature lay in her fear of the living entity on her skin. She needed knowledge. And although it hadn’t done anything harmful, its presence freaked her out. It had been there when she awoke in the hospital.
Had the daemon done this to her? Had the warrior man done this? Research in the library and online had come up with nothing regarding living, moving tattoos other than some really lame Asian films.
She wouldn’t show Stephen the tat. On the two previous occasions she tried that with doctors, the physicians laughed and blamed pain medication delirium. The tattoo refused to move when someone else glimpsed it.
Her other motivation was to find out if that guy she couldn’t quit thinking about had lived. She thought his soulful dark eyes had stared into hers when she first awoke, but later when rational, she decided she imagined him. He was the reason she was in this mess. Yet, intuition pushed her to find him, if he wasn’t...The thought of him dead—her palms went clammy, her chest would barely move air and her head spun to the point she thought she’d fall out of the chair.