Fated Mate_Misty Woods Dragons)

by Juniper Hart

  “Oui,” Nora said. She crossed her arms and glared at Alex as the girl walked through the door. She might as well keep up her charade. “Where were you?”

  “Collette said you were looking for me,” Alex answered, “but I assure you, I was in the kitchen.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Nora demanded.

  Alex shook her blonde head vehemently.

  “No, of course not, mademoiselle! Perhaps I was in the pantry when you came,” she offered.

  “Or perhaps you were off watching soap operas!” Nora exclaimed melodramatically.

  Alex’s face twisted into a look of bemusement.

  “Mademoiselle, I do not even have a computer in my room,” she replied. “I cannot watch anything. You know that.”

  So Marc is the only one with a laptop, Nora thought. I must get my hands on that device. She just hoped she remembered how to use it after all that time. How long had it been since she had touched a keyboard?

  A strange flash crossed her mind, a fleeting memory of herself encircled in a pair of strong calves, naked on a bed. She was laughing, and so was the man she was with as they watched a ridiculous video on the screen before them.

  A feeling of warmth comforted Nora as she clung to the wispy recollection.

  “Mademoiselle?” Alex timidly asked. “Would you like me to run you a bath?”

  “Yes!” Nora snapped, angry that the girl had shattered her reverie. Alex hurried into the bedroom, and Nora closed her eyes. She had been watching that video with Ansel. He was the one she had to find.

  One way or another, she thought, I am getting out of here. Ansel may not be coming for me, no matter what those dreams tell me, but I am not helpless.

  Another shadow crossed her mind as a memory fought to make its way through the lies Jerome had filled her head with. Something about Ansel again… and flying. They were together, but they weren’t… them. They were beasts in the clouds, a clash of tails and scales as they raced through the atmosphere like children engaged in a game of tag.

  The freedom and happiness she felt was unparalleled, and as she dove toward Ansel’s massive green frame, he leapt gracefully away, the tip of his tail tickling her nose.

  Nora laughed aloud.

  “Mademoiselle?” Alex called her. “Your bath is ready.”

  Nora nodded her head and stepped into the bathroom, Alex following behind her. “Get the scissors. I want to cut off my hair.”

  Alex’s mouth parted, but no sound escaped.

  “What are you waiting for?” Nora demanded. “I have waited enough for you today!”

  Alex nodded and spun to rush from the bathroom. Nora disrobed and fell into the perfectly warmed tub.

  If Alex happened to be careless with the scissors, Nora might be able to swipe them as a weapon. It was a long shot, but it was still something she should try. Besides, she really did need a haircut—her hair was too long and noticeable. If she made it far, she had to change her appearance, just in case Jerome went looking after her.

  She closed her eyes and tried to recapture the image of herself as a dragon, but it was gone in an instant. In its place was merely the image of herself crying by the River Thames, her heart breaking.

  I was crying for Ansel that day, she thought, dipping her mess of dark waves into the water, closing out the sounds of the house. Although she could not picture him, she could feel him inside her, a sensation that seemed to grow with each day.

  I was someone else before this, she told herself firmly. I am not Nora from Nice. I am Nora from London, and I have a man out there searching for me. We are fated to each other from another life, and we can communicate with each other in dreams.

  She exhaled and raised her head out of the water as Alex reappeared at the door, Collette at her side. They eyed her warily, as if they expected her to rise from the water in a mass of hysteria. Nora did everything in her power to stop herself from actually doing so. They were the ones who had made her that way. They had led her to believe that she was unstable, insane, but she wasn’t. She was loved, and she had abilities they would never be able to understand.

  A part of her wanted to scream out the truth to them, but she knew she would only make things worse for herself. She needed to keep her head down and bide her time until tomorrow—the moment of truth.

  I will discover if I am the victim of a psychopath, Nora thought, or if I am merely crazy, as everyone has always believed.

  She wasn’t sure which answer was worse.

  13

  “I have already told you everything I know,” Ansel said. He was growing tired of repeating himself.

  “You realize how bad this looks for you, I assume,” George, his barrister, sighed. “I am fighting extradition, but it looks like you fled the country immediately following the murder of Ms. Halpstern.”

  “Fled the country?” Ansel choked. “I had the flight booked for weeks! What the hell kind of barrister are you if you can’t even prove that?”

  George ignored the slight and focussed on the notes before him, adjusting his spectacles. “The fact that you left directly after the murder is more inflammatory than the date when your tickets were booked.”

  “How many other people left Vegas or even the Bellagio that day?” Ansel demanded. “What a crock of bollocks!”

  George grunted in agreement and rubbed his forehead. “Let’s go through the day in question again. Where were you before you visited Ms. Halpstern’s hotel room?”

  Ansel’s mind instantly went to Tony Valducci’s fire-eaten home in Surprise.

  “I went out for a stroll,” he answered evenly, pushing his true crime from his head.

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  Ansel swallowed a smirk as he envisioned Valducci’s bodyguard, Luca, and the dog.

  “I’m certain many people saw me, but I did not take any names,” he grunted. “If I had known I needed an alibi, I would have worked it out. Anyway, what difference does it make what I did before I went to see her?”

  “Your demeanor beforehand can be relevant,” George said. “If you seemed nervous or irate, for example.”

  “I was neither nervous nor irate,” Ansel assured him. “If I had been, I would not have visited Miss Halpstern for an afternoon treat. I don’t perform well under stress.”

  George’s green eyes narrowed. “I would suggest you do not use language like that when speaking to the prosecutor or jury.”

  “Jury?” Ansel coughed. “It can’t go that far! I have done nothing wrong! I don’t even own a gun!”

  George scoffed lightly. “You were in America, Ansel. You belong to an elite world where money is no object. If you wanted a gun, I should not have to spell out for you how easy it would be for you to acquire one and then get rid of it.”

  “Their case is weak,” Ansel snapped, but George shook his balding head.

  “I have seen men convicted for much less than this, Ansel,” he began, “and I am sure you have, too. I believe that, in America, they talk of the ability to indict a ham sandwich, as if the justice system is a comedy club to be mocked and trivialized.”

  Ansel gritted his teeth. Truly, he had no fear. After all, there was not a cage in the world that could hold him. Then again, he did not want to spend his life running, nor did he want a criminal conviction. He finally had a chance to be with Nora again, away from his father’s clutches, wealthy in his own right. He didn’t wish to start anew, much less on the run. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wouldn’t be fair to Nora, either. He had to solve this.

  “What happened when you arrived at her room?” George urged. “What did she say to you and vice versa?”

  Ansel lowered his eyes slightly.

  “There was very little talking,” he confessed. “I believe she said, ‘you came.’”

  George waited. “And what did you say?”

  “I said she was going to do the same,” Ansel said. “It wasn’t my finest work, I admit,” he rushed on, humiliation at having to relive his
intimate moments with the girl more devastating than he had anticipated.

  “And then what did you do?”

  “Oh, come on, mate, do I have to spell it out? We shagged, all right?”

  “Did you use anything else? Was there any bondage or—?”

  “No! Nothing like that!” Ansel groaned. “It was simply a fun romp in the hay, and then I was on my way.”

  George studied him for a long moment. “How long were you there?”

  Ansel shrugged. “Forty-five minutes, maybe?”

  “How was her mood when you left? Was she upset?”

  “Of course not!” Ansel snapped, annoyed. “She was grinning, and she said she hoped to see me again before I left, but I knew it was impossible because I was leaving in the morning.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “No. I said, ‘you never know.’ There is no motive for me to have killed her,” Ansel insisted. “They need a better theory than this.”

  “I am trying to give them one, Ansel, but you must work with me here,” George explained. “Let me earn my wage, will you?”

  “I wish you would!” Ansel snapped. “I have other things to do.”

  “Was she expecting anyone after you?” George continued, and Ansel felt like pounding his fists against the table in frustration.

  “If she was, I am sure she wouldn’t have told me about it,” he said. “What are the chances they will extradite me?”

  “I don’t know. That depends on what kind of evidence they have.”

  Ansel felt like they were getting nowhere, and he rose from the sterile chair to pace around the interrogation room.

  “I am a world-renowned boxer,” he grumbled. “I shouldn’t be like treated like a common criminal.”

  “We will get you out of here,” George assured him, but Ansel wasn’t sure how much faith he had in his words. Maybe it would be better if he was extradited. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Tony Valducci—he was sure that the man had planned this, and he was probably sitting with Luca right now, toasting his incarceration.

  Ansel didn’t want to admit he may have underestimated the greedy gangster, but he didn’t want to give him too much credit, either.

  There was a knock on the door, and Detective Carlsberg appeared, a smirk on his face.

  “Good news, Mr. Williams,” he announced happily. Ansel had a feeling that it would not be good news for him. “Your extradition papers have come through. You are flying out on the red eye.”

  Ansel glared at his attorney.

  “I thought you were fighting this!” he exploded, slapping his palm against the table.

  “Is that what happened with Carrie Halpstern?” the detective asked, cuffing Ansel’s hands behind his back. “You lost your temper and killed her?”

  “You don’t have jurisdiction here, Detective,” George said coldly. “Kindly step away from my client unless you would like me to file a formal complaint with your CO. From what I’ve read, you don’t have the most stellar track record on the force. I would hate to see what another mark against you might do.”

  Detective Carlsberg tensed, but he stepped back as instructed, glowering.

  “It’s just going to be someone else slapping the cuffs on him,” he retorted. “I just thought I would help.”

  “Your giving nature is duly noted,” George remarked dryly. “But in Britain, we treat our national treasures with respect, not disdain.”

  “Maybe that’s why your national treasures think they can get away with murder,” Carlsberg replied.

  “Uncuff him at once!” George snapped. “And do not come back until you are accompanied by an adult.”

  Carlsberg scowled furiously. Against Ansel’s expectations, he did as he was told before storming from the room.

  Ansel turned his anger back toward his lawyer, rubbing his wrists. “You have to stop this. I am not going back to Las Vegas to stand trial for this.”

  “You will likely be granted bail—”

  “No!” Ansel snarled. “I am not going! Find a way out of this or suffer the consequences.”

  “You need to control your temper,” George growled, narrowing his eyes. “If you are threatening your own attorney, no one is going to believe you didn’t kill that girl.”

  Ansel snorted derisively. “I am not threatening you. I am telling you that you are going to deal with the aftermath of a disaster if you don’t stop this from happening.”

  “I suggest you return with Detective Carlsberg to America, and we will work on our end to bring you home.”

  Ansel laughed mirthlessly.

  “Forgive me if I no longer have any faith in your ability to do that,” he snapped. He banged on the door, and a constable appeared. “I need to use the toilet,” he announced.

  The young officer only stared at him, but Ansel held his gaze.

  “Ansel!” George called out. “Do not do anything stupid!” What was that, the mantra of Scotland Yard? They were the only ones who seemed to be basking in stupidity.

  “Toilet?” Ansel demanded again. “Where is it?”

  Sighing, the constable led him from the room, and Ansel’s mind began to work furiously. He had one opportunity to leave the stationhouse, but at what cost would it be? He couldn’t return to the States—who knew how long it would take to get this mess sorted out? His attorney was completely useless.

  Ansel went into the washroom, slamming the door behind him.

  “Hurry up in there! People are going to be looking for you!” the copper yelled. Ansel ignored him, even though he heeded the warning. He had a very small window of opportunity to get out of the police station; both literally and figuratively.

  If he slipped from the high window, he could leave for Switzerland and forsake the entire ordeal in minutes. But what would he return to?

  I can worry about that after I find Nora, he thought. And together, we can sort this mess out.

  Something held him back. If he fled, it would only ensure that he was guilty, and he would commit Nora to an uncertain future. What was the point of finding her if they wouldn’t be able to relax and just live their lives together? They had already been running for years, and they finally had a chance to do it right.

  Consternation and fury filled Ansel, and he butted his head against the door of the bathroom stall.

  Think, he willed himself. What is the right thing to do?

  His instinct told him to fly away, but his sense of righteousness kept him rooted in place. If he wanted to find Nora, he had to clear his name first. He had already caused her enough heartache for a hundred lifetimes. Besides, if Nora desperately needed his help—if she was in some kind of danger she couldn’t get out of on her own—she would have called out to him again, and yet she hadn’t.

  “What are you doing in there?” the constable demanded, throwing open the bathroom door. “Did you fall in?”

  Make your decision, he urged himself. Do it now.

  “Williams? Are you still in there?”

  Ansel cleared his throat and unlocked the door, stifling the desire to shift with stunning force.

  “I’m here, mate,” he replied shortly. “Where else would I be?”

  Relief colored the young cop’s face, as if he had been worried that he had lost the prized inmate. To be fair, he almost had.

  “I have to take you to holding before your flight. Your barrister says he’ll be in touch, but I think he was in a big rush to get out of here,” he explained almost confidentially, and Ansel nodded at him.

  “Fine,” he said, washing his hands. As they walked back toward the elevators, the officer leaned forward to press the button.

  “I’m your biggest fan,” he whispered. “If you need anything while you’re in here, mate, let me know. I’m Andy.”

  Ansel glanced at him through his peripheral vision and nodded slowly.

  “Thanks, mate,” he replied slowly. “I may just take you up on that.”

  I may have bought myself a few hours to rea
ch out to Nora, he thought.

  He just hoped he could reach her.

  14

  They had believed her asleep for hours by the time the household retired for the night. Nora was shocked to learn how many times either Alex or Collette had come to check in on her, to ensure she was in bed.

  They won’t wake in the middle of the night, too, will they? Do they set their alarms to check in on me or something? she wondered, hoping that wasn’t the case. Well, even if they did, it was a risk she had to take.

  There were no clocks for her to gauge how much time had passed, but Nora had stolen into the hallway several times to listen for sounds in the household, well after night had fallen. After what she thought was a few hours, the checks finally stopped, and Nora dumped the rest of the tea Collette had brought her in her bathroom sink to make it appear as if she had woken and drunk it, therefore rendering her unconscious again.

  She rushed over to her bed and piled the pillows to portray a sleeping frame beneath the covers before rushing down the stairs and toward Marc’s apartment. By the time she realized she was without footwear, it was too late to return, and she braved the cold quickly and entered the frigid garage shivering.

  Marc had not heard her enter, and Nora stood watching him sleep for a long moment. She had not anticipated that he might be asleep, but then she realized that it might work out better for her if he did not see her there. Cautiously, she crept toward the computer, one eye on his snoring frame as she did so.

  Nora pried the laptop open and blinked at the sudden brightness of the screen, her hands trembling as she stared at the home screen.

  A flush of excitement rushed to her face.

  I remember what to do, she thought, swallowing as she stared at the icons before her. She clicked on the web browser and waited for the screen to load, again shifting her eyes toward the slumbering form only a few feet away. But what was she looking for?

  With two fingers, gnawing on her lower lip, she began to type.

  A-N-S-E-L.

  To her shock, several headlines immediately popped on the webpage, and Nora’s jaw dropped with each one she read.