by Tara Nina
May released a nervous laugh. Jameson popped a little wheelie, easing his chair onto the discarded wooden side and rolled forward to remove the packing material from around the statues. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. They were the most wondrous sight. Her heart leapt for joy as she simply stared at what she knew were the cursed bodies of Donnell and Dour MacKinnon. On autopilot, she helped until every shred of packing material was removed from around them.
Her hands shook as she gently caressed their faces. These two never knew what hit them. May shook her head. MacGillivray cursed them as they slept. They looked so peaceful, unaware over two centuries had passed. One lay on his side, an arm under his head for a pillow with the bottom leg straight, while the top leg was bent, supporting him from toppling forward. The other twin was on his back, an arm across his eyes, the other under his head. The arms they used as pillows and the tops of their heads touched.
Dressed only in kilts, Donnell and Dour were a perfectly matched set of young Scottish lairds if she’d ever seen them.
How they’d managed to be kept together after so much time and not been broken apart, she’d never know, but could only be thankful they were intact. She knelt as she held Jameson’s gaze and took his hands in hers. Her smile broadened. “It’s them. It’s the MacKinnon twins. They’re exactly how Akira described them.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” A menacing voice came from behind Jameson.
May sprang upright as Jameson spun his chair around to face the intruder, who stepped from behind a crate. The man stood at average height, wearing a long trench coat and a knit cap pulled low across his brow. Dressed all in black, he appeared pale. His scruffy five o’clock shadow just added to his dirtiness instead of giving this particular man a bad-boy appeal.
May’s stomach sank. It was the man from earlier. The man she’d noticed before she went into the art gallery to see Jameson. He was following her. What the hell could he possibly want with the statues? Then it struck her. Brother Leod had to be behind this. Damn. She’d let her guard down and led them to the twins. May held on to Jameson’s chair for support as she stood directly behind it.
“Who are you?” Jameson demanded.
“Not important. I’m here for the statues.” With his hand in his coat pocket, he motioned as if he had a weapon. “Now move away from the crate so I can get a good look at my prize.”
May noted Jameson’s hesitation, his shoulders lifting emphasizing their broadness, but she wasn’t about to let him get hurt by doing something stupid. She tightened her grip on his chair handles and leaned close to his ear.
“Let him think he’s won for the moment,” she whispered. He met her concerned gaze across his shoulder and gave her a slight nod. As if he’d conceded to the intruder, Jameson released his wheels and let May roll him to the side. May’s thoughts whirled as she played out several scenarios in her head.
Was he really armed with a weapon in his coat pocket or was he just trying to intimidate them? He didn’t look that strong. Maybe if she tackled him at the knees, he’d fall. Then if Jameson rolled onto his supposed gun hand, injuring it, she’d threaten him with the crowbar to remain still until the authorities arrived. From the side angle of his face, recognition sparked May’s brain. She knew him. Or at least she thought she did. She stepped beside Jameson’s chair. Her hands on her hips, she leaned a little to the right, studying his face.
When he realized she stared at him, he stopped taking pictures and sending them to someone with his phone. “What?” he shouted angrily.
“Just trying to get a good look at you,” May tilted her chin as she spoke. “Don’t want to miss any details for the police.”
“Get back, you old bat,” he screamed, wildly waving his coat pocket at her. This led May to believe she was right. He was faking it. He didn’t have a weapon.
She took a step forward. He leaned back. His eyes widened. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t stop.”
“I don’t think you will,” May replied calmly. She never took her eyes from his face, trying to keep his focus on her. “I doubt seriously you have a gun in your pocket or else you’d be pointing it in my face by now.”
“You’re pushing your luck,” he sneered and tried to sound menacing. But she heard the slight hitch in his tone, the lack of conviction in his threat.
With the intruder’s attention on May, he wasn’t watching Jameson, who carefully eased into a better position closer to the man. He quietly lifted the forgotten crowbar from its location in his chair beside him, keeping it out of the other man’s view. May had an idea of what Jameson planned and moved again, causing the man to turn more, facing her, his back toward Jameson. It was all Jameson needed.
Thwack!
He swung the crowbar like a baseball bat and struck the man behind both knees, knocking his legs from under him. His forehead hit the upper edge of the crate containing the twins. May jumped back, getting out of the way of the falling man as he landed face first, unconscious on the floor. The cell phone he’d been urgently using went sailing into the crate, sliding to a stop out of sight behind the statues.
“Nice swing,” May praised as she high-fived Jameson. “That ought to teach that thug not to mess with us.”
Jameson grinned, then changed instantly to somber. “How’d he get in here past Charles?”
May shook her head. “No clue. I doubt he was capable of hurting him.”
She knelt to check the man’s pulse. He was alive but bleeding from the cut on his forehead. Jameson pulled out his cell phone and dialed. It was answered on the first ring. “Charles, are you okay?”
A muffled male voice could be heard but she couldn’t make out the words. “We’ve had a bit of a scuffle with a would-be thief. Contact the authorities and there’s a need for an ambulance. No, not for one of us, the thief needs it.” Jameson disconnected the call and looked at her.
“Charles drove to the local petrol station for fuel. He’s safe, calling for help and coming back. Shouldn’t be but a few minutes.” Jameson sighed. “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d remembered to lock the door behind us.”
“It’s not your fault.” May stood. “Is there a first-aid kit? I think we should put something on his head to stop the bleeding.”
Jameson rolled backward. “I’ll get it and some duct tape to bind his hands in case he wakes.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a rather large man stated in a heavy British accent as he sauntered toward them with a gun in his hand. Three other men followed along behind him, each wearing similar black hooded jackets and gloves. They kept the hoods up and used bandanas to conceal their faces like the old Wild West bank robbers. Only their eyes were visible. And to May, none of the oversized goons looked as if they had an ounce of niceness in their bones.
She tilted her chin and faced off with the leader. “He might bleed to death.”
He shrugged. “No major loss. It’s the statues we’re after.”
“You can’t have them,” May informed him while standing her ground between the statues and the large man, who glared at her from beneath his hood.
He directed the others without shifting his eyes off her. It was a mute order. His team was already in motion as if everything had been planned. “Open the cargo door, get the lift and hurry. I’m sure the cops are probably on their way thanks to the bleeding idiot.”
May watched as they moved with precision and speed. She needed to do something before they succeeded in stealing the twins. The echo of the roll-up door could be heard and the sound of a motor running slipped in behind it. Yep, it was obvious they’d orchestrated this job well. A knot tightened her chest but she didn’t back down. Keeping her cool, she asked, “How’d you get here so quickly? I’m assuming you were the one he sent the text messages to.”
The man snorted, relaxing the hammer of the gun. “He’s simply a small fish in a big pond. We’ve been casing this place ever since the boss saw a picture in the paper. Idiot was given you as an ass
ignment to follow. It was his dumb bad luck your path crossed ours. We’ve been watching, waiting for the right moment.” He nodded at the unconscious thief lying in a small puddle of blood. “Only good thing he’s done is lead us to an open door and a disabled alarm.”
Jameson couldn’t believe he’d been that stupid. Should’ve locked that door and reset the alarm system. Idiot. Jameson grabbed May’s arm. Her gaze met his. Anger mixed with fear was clearly visible in her eyes. But he couldn’t let her do something irrational. Jameson was certain May hadn’t told him everything about the statues. Why would thieves want these particular statues? The warehouse was brimming with expensive and more easily portable artwork. It didn’t make sense.
Did the intruders think the same thing about them as May? That they were cursed? The first thief claimed he was glad to hear May’s declaration about them being MacKinnons and he’d called them his prize. He’d been taking pictures and sent them to his associate, who was now here to collect the statues. And who was this boss who had May followed, and why? So many questions cluttered his brain. No matter what, he needed to keep May safe, and facing off with an armed robber wasn’t exactly the thing she should be doing as far as he was concerned.
He slid his hand down her arm to capture her hand as he tried to defuse the situation before she got herself shot. Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to the leader of this gang of thugs. “Why do you want these statues? I can pay you more than whoever you’re working for to leave them and go away.”
The ringleader laughed maniacally. “Typical rich asshole thinking money can buy everything. In this case, you lose.”
Jameson had to think fast since the other three men had slid the tines of the lift under the crate and were manipulating it for transport. “Then tell me, what’s more important to you than financial security?” he implored, hoping to stall for time in order to allow the police to arrive. He didn’t like the fact May’s grip tightened on his hand as they lifted the crate and the statues wobbled inside. It was obvious they had no intentions of packing it properly.
“Might as well throw his ass on top and carry him out of here.” The leader continued doling out orders.
Two of them lifted the unconscious man and tossed him on top of the wooden crate. Jameson felt May flinch when his head bounced as he landed hard. It was obvious they really didn’t care about him. They were simply cleaning up the possible loose ends.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jameson reminded the thief.
He pointed the gun at Jameson. “It’s about power. Power the likes of which the world has never seen. And it’s worth more than money.”
“I demand to speak with Brother Leod,” May insisted.
The man cocked his head sideways and said in a mocking tone, “Who?”
*
The moment the van pulled away, the man they followed slipped inside a warehouse behind the woman and the man in the wheelchair. Cait nodded to Jenny and together they exited the car, sneaked over to the warehouse and quietly entered the building. Slowly and deliberately, they got into a position where they could hear what was going on without being seen. For some reason, their suspect wanted some sort of statues.
What in the world did this supposed paranormal brotherhood want with a pair of statues? Cait needed to get a better view to determine what was so important about this particular item, when there were so many easier-to-steal artworks readily available. Carefully, she and Jenny worked their way into a better position. From their new angle, a pair of sleeping men, wearing kilts, was chiseled in stone.
The two lifeless forms had bodies even a Greek god would die for. Damn. Cait strained to get a look at the faces of the statues, but the man in the wheelchair blocked her line of sight. It impressed her how agile he was when he knocked the legs out from under their suspect, who hit his head and was out cold from what she could tell. Catching a motion out of the corner of her eye, she ducked behind the crate and huddled close to Jenny. Holding her finger to her lips and shaking her head, she let Jenny know not to say a word or move.
Heavy footsteps fell as Cait slowly peeked around the edge of the crate. A man carried a gun and was followed by three other men. All wore black and were there on a mission—to get those statues. They had to be extremely valuable. She kept a visual on them and listened to every word she could catch.
The thieves turned down money to go away. And for what? Power? It didn’t make sense. Had the guy they followed been right about the leader of the brotherhood wanting to become some all-powerful being, a black-magic guru? She’d scoffed at the idea when he’d said it. But now she was beginning to think he meant it.
She heard the woman demand to speak with a Brother Leod. She’d heard that name before in conjunction with the brotherhood they were investigating. Their suspect had let it slip while drunk at the bar. The way the oversized thug mocked the woman with his reply pissed Cait off. And for some reason, she knew she couldn’t let them steal these statues. If they made it past the crates where she and Jenny were hiding, then they’d be free and clear to load the statues into the waiting van without anyone stopping them.
That so wasn’t going to happen.
The man with the gun took a step backward and before he turned, Cait acted on impulse. She rushed him, clipping him behind the knees and taking him face first to the ground. His heels dug into her stomach. Air gushed from her lungs, leaving her winded for a few seconds. She heard Jenny scream before she saw her fly off the top of a crate and land on two of the other thieves.
For a moment, Jenny couldn’t believe Cait took a man down. But she had no time to consider the consequences. Two of the other men were moving toward Cait and she’d have no part of them hurting her best friend. She’d watched enough WWF wrestling with her brothers to pick up a thing or two. All she could do was hope it worked. As nimble as a cat, she got on top of the crate she’d been hiding behind and pounced. With her arms and legs spread wide, she managed to hit the pair with enough force that one fell and the other stumbled backward.
She landed hard, half-on, half-off the man on the ground. Immediately he rolled, leaving her face first on the floor and out of breath. Though she gasped for air, she lifted onto her hands and knees. Funny, it didn’t look like it hurt when those guys did it on TV.
The squeal of brakes had her twisting her neck to see what happened. The lift operator slammed the lift in park so hard the statues wobbled and the older woman held her hands out as if she could possibly have stopped them if they fell. From the size of them, she probably would have been crushed if they did topple over.
Before Jenny stood, one of the men kicked her in the ribs.
“Bitch,” he spat out but didn’t get the chance to connect again. At first, she had no clue what happened, since she’d doubled over in pain and her eyes automatically closed. Prying them open, she saw the guy who kicked her flat on his back, moaning, and the van’s chauffeur limping quickly toward her.
A dark shadow behind her eyes threatened her consciousness. She had no intention of blacking out. Not when her best friend needed her. Jenny dug deep for the energy to stand and remain focused as the chauffeur helped her. She did plan to have a stern chat with Cait when this was over.
In her book, the definition of thrilling did not include jumping off a crate and getting the crap beat out of her. Nope. She wheezed, taking in air though her side ached. This most definitely wasn’t a thrill. She might have been raised in a house full of boys, but that didn’t mean she knew how to fight. She never had to. Her brothers were always there to protect her. God, she wished she did know how right now though. The knee-to-the-groin trick her oldest brother taught her wasn’t going to help in this situation.
She hated to admit neither she nor Cait had any fighting skills, but that didn’t stop Cait. She caught sight of Cait holding her own, as was the chauffeur. He’d jumped into the brawl, slinging punches and bloodying a nose or two. Impressive for a driver. She didn’t have time to think it through o
r ask questions. Jenny leaned against a crate, catching her breath and searching for a weapon. Seeing a loose board, she pulled it free and wielded it like a bat.
Blindly she swung it at anything wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. When she hit one of them in the side of the head, he slowly folded to his knees and fell over onto his side. It felt awesome to see it was the idiot who’d kicked her. She stood over him and sneered.
“Vengeance is mine,” she quipped before turning on her heels and taking aim for anyone who came near her.
Cait quickly scooted onto her knees, even though it hurt to breathe. Definitely going to have a set of bruises on her tummy from the feel of it. She sat on his back, knees digging into his sides, and jerked his hood down, tightly wound her hands in his hair and tried to keep his face pressed to the floor. The way he was flailing about, attempting to dislodge her precarious position, had to be similar to riding a bull.
Wheelchair guy rolled into action, running over the man’s hand before he retrieved the gun he’d dropped in the fall. The man screamed, barely drowning out the sound of bones breaking. Cait cringed at the crunch and pop. Instead of weakening him, it incited his crazy gene even more. The large man rose straight onto his knees, cradled his injured hand to his chest and used his other hand to hit Cait, who clung to him like a backpack. With one hand twisted in his hair, she wrapped her other arm around his neck and squeezed, hoping to shut off his airway.
She was surprised to see the van’s driver had appeared out of nowhere. He helped Jenny off the floor and then went to swinging punches at the other three. The man in the wheelchair spun, snatched up the crowbar and entered the mix. He landed a solid blow with the crowbar in the middle of one of the bad guy’s guts.
As she battled to keep a hold on the ringleader, Cait caught sight of the older woman in front of the crate. Her head was bowed as if in prayer and the words of what Cait thought was an ancient Celtic prayer poured from her lips.
