Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams

by Christina Skye

  “My mother. She was wonderful in the kitchen, always with bread rising somewhere and a bit of candy fruit tucked away in one of her big pockets to reward curious fingers. She believed in having children learn right along with everyone else. I could make a soufflé before I could ride a bicycle, I think. A most un English childhood, believe me.”

  “She sounds wonderful.”

  Dominic heard the question in Cathlin’s voice. “She died four years ago,” he said. “Swift but painless. It was very hard on my father, for they were very much in love even after all those years.” A muscle flashed at his jaw. “My sister, Alexis, bore the worst of it, because I was—away.”

  “I’m sure they understood if your work kept you from them.”

  “They might have understood, but I’m not sure I did. At least I got to see her, before…” His voice drifted away as he ran his finger along the rim of his glass. When he looked up, his voice was steady. “And what about you, Cathlin O’Neill? What secrets are you hiding behind that brash American exterior?”

  “Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid. My father was…in the English government.”

  “Someone I’d know?” Dominic asked casually.

  “No. Just one of the nameless, thankless drones,” Cathlin said bitterly. “My mother died when I was ten. Donnell was a wonderful father. He taught me all the important things.”

  “Oh? I’m afraid to ask.”

  Cathlin gave Dominic a challenging smile. “How to palm a card. How to spot a counterfeit bill. How to tell diamonds from Diamonique. It was rather important in his line of work, you see.”

  “He was a government jeweler?”

  Cathlin laughed softly. “No, he was a jewel thief, among other things. Then he went straight. If you can call government security work going straight,” she added grimly.

  “Not interesting? You’ve beaten my tale to shreds, O’Neill. Tell me more.”

  “There’s not very much.” Not much that Cathlin knew, at least. There had been long months in the Far East and Arabia, but Donnell never spoke of them when he returned and Cathlin knew not to ask. It seemed that the tension had just begun to leave his eyes, and he started to laugh again, when the call would come dragging him off. “He worked for the government and was away a great deal of the time.” Her voice hardened. “No son of mine will ever have that kind of life,” she said flatly. “It destroys too many lives. That’s assuming I ever have a son, of course.”

  Their eyes met. Heat flared. Cathlin cleared her throat and took a bite of the salmon she’d been pushing around her plate.

  “What if your son wants a job of that sort? Wouldn’t the choice be up to him? Just hypothetically, of course.”

  “No.” Cathlin toyed with the last piece of banana. “Not if I could help it. I’ve seen too closely the kind of pain it brings.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? I had a father I never knew. And when I finally had the chance, when we both needed each other most, they still wouldn’t let him go. They called him out again, always just one more time. Only one time he didn’t come back.” Her voice wavered, then grew strong once more. “Sorry. Maybe we should talk about something else.”

  A muscle flashed at Dominic’s jaw. “Maybe we should. Tell me what you found today?”

  “The short version? Nothing. The long version? Dust and dirt and then a whole lot of nothing.” She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “I’ve searched everything but one small closet of my father’s and found nothing. If there are any records in this house, then they must have been hidden by an expert.”

  Dominic frowned. “I’ll call someone in London to look into the official records. Marriage licenses, wills, property transfers, that sort of thing.”

  “Isn’t that rather a long shot?”

  “Do you have any better ideas?”

  Cathlin gnawed at her lip. “If your Mad Uncle Gabriel and Geneva Russell were truly close, maybe we should spend more time looking into his life. Maybe you can trace his friends and acquaintances from their letters or one of the family diaries.”

  “You’re right, of course. I have an aunt who has whole trunks full of that kind of thing. I’ll have to put her on it.” He smiled wryly. “Of course, Great-Aunt Agatha would love nothing better. You’re brilliant, O’Neill.”

  Laughing softly, he bent forward to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. Cathlin stopped, fork midair, her eyes very wide and very dazed.

  And Dominic knew why. Years of experience had taught him to recognize that the arrested look he saw there, the look that shocked her just as much as it did him, was pulse-slamming desire.

  He pulled away as if burned. When had a simple touch become such a complicated prelude to utter disaster? “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Cathlin looked down. “It’s not your fault that I’m acting like a fool. It’s just that I don’t usually—what I mean is, it’s been a long time since—” Muttering, she tossed down her napkin and stood up quickly. Her hands tightened on the carved back of the pine chair.

  Dominic was around the table in a second. “Sit down, damn it. This is enough to drive any sane person crazy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mad Uncle Gabriel arranged all of this just to poke his nose at his family when they finally thought they were rid of him. In fact, maybe he and Geneva ran away and eloped, then died in blissful obscurity in some little hamlet in the Cotswolds.”

  Cathlin gave him a pained look.

  “No? Then perhaps they just fell out of love. People do, you know. Perhaps your Geneva married another man and had ten children and lived happily ever after. Gabriel might have continued his reckless, dissolute life, only to discover that he had no one else he cared for enough to leave his wine to.”

  “But what was his end?”

  Dominic frowned and rubbed his temple, which was aching slightly. “I haven’t a bloody clue. But I’ll tell you one thing. Something happened to you when you put on that gown. And something happened to me when I saw you in it. We’ve got to find out what, and the only place left to try is Draycott.”

  Cathlin stiffened. “I’m not sure I want to think about this. I came down here to rest and deal with Seacliffe, not with Draycott Abbey.”

  “Maybe you’ve got no choice,” Dominic said grimly.

  There was a hiss and pop as the electricity returned. The refrigerator gurgled and then whined back into activity.

  A moment later the phone near the door began an incessant peal.

  “Let it ring, Cathlin. We have to talk.”

  But Cathlin pushed away. “It might be Serita. I have to take it.”

  Dominic glared at her as she lifted the phone. After a moment she smiled sweetly. “Richard? How nice to hear from you. Oh, nothing major. A storm knocked out the power here. No, everything’s fine.”

  Dominic’s hands tightened.

  “No, it wouldn’t be a bother. I have the cases here anyway. Three o’clock? Fine. Of course, I remember. See you then.”

  She’d barely put down the phone when Dominic was beside her, his shoulders braced and determined. “You’re not going.”

  Cathlin’s brow climbed. “Oh? Since when are you telling me what to do?”

  “This is important, Cathlin.”

  “And my business isn’t?” Her foot tapped angrily against the polished wooden floor.

  “Be quiet.”

  “Who are you to—”

  “Be quiet.” Dominic’s fingers clamped down on her shoulder.

  Outside the window the lavender bushes rustled.

  “Get down and stay down.” Dominic moved, pinning Cathlin to the floor.

  “But—”

  His palm lodged over her lips. “There’s someone out there.”

  Cathlin stiffened. She had just seen what Dominic had seen.

  A man was standing outside the kitchen. He was dressed in a hunting jacket and boots and looked like the usual country gentleman out for an outing.

  Then Cathlin saw the revolver i
n the man’s fingers.

  She swallowed, watching Dominic inch along the wall toward the door. He slipped out into the corridor, knees to his chest and body low to the floor.

  As she watched, Cathlin went very still. Her father had taught her just such a movement a year after her mother’s death. “Keep low,” he’d ordered. “Focus your weight forward so you’re ready to run if necessary. Try to make the smallest target in case of an attack.”

  Oh, yes, Cathlin remembered. Now she watched the man she’d rescued from the marsh moving exactly the same way, a professional in every sense of the word.

  The realization left her cold.

  Dominic Montserrat was one of them, the men who had stolen her father from her and held him captive in their nasty shadow world.

  And that meant she couldn’t trust a single damned thing he’d told her.

  LATER DOMINIC WOULD WONDER about the raw instinct that made him turn and shove Cathlin to the floor.

  Even after three years in France, some deep part of him had registered the cues and responded instantly. He didn’t even like to think about that fact. But now, with adrenaline racing through his veins and anger tightening his throat, he didn’t think, he only moved.

  When the man outside the window disappeared, Dominic waited for instinct to kick in. Almost immediately it did.

  Around to the back.

  He headed for the front, meaning to circle back through the dense woods bordering Seacliffe. In the process he’d also have to verify if the intruder was armed, if he had backup, and what kind of transport he had hidden.

  Dominic went very still as all the old reflexes went into play. His fingers dug into a polished chair leg as one part of him watched and analyzed, calling on the long years of grim experience that had kept him alive in too many back streets and parade grounds and government cavalcades.

  The other part, the saner part that had struggled to be free of that dangerous life, stood away, sickened by what he’d become.

  His superiors in Whitehall would have been delighted at how easily he slid back into the old patterns. It seemed that the years in France had made no difference. Maybe his retirement had come too late, or maybe the pattern was part of his nature. He didn’t have the answers to explain it, and God knows he’d spent three years trying.

  The truth was that he would never be free of this world. He’d been in too deep for too long.

  Silently, Dominic eased the front door open, his fingers itching for a gun he didn’t have and a holster he couldn’t even remember. Following the dictates of dark memories, he worked his way outside and then sprinted soundlessly toward the woods.

  Knowing already that some part of him had gone dead inside.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, hidden within a tangle of hew trees, Dominic stared down at the set of fresh prints left in the soft earth. Whoever had been outside the kitchen window was gone. But it had been a professional, that Dominic knew. The man had been dressed casually, like a tourist who’d lost his way upon the marsh and stopped to ask directions.

  Except for the Smith & Wesson in his right hand. Something chambered for .357 cartridges, which stayed accurate even at long distances.

  Dominic’s jaw hardened as he felt the old adrenaline high begin again. He’d been slow in the kitchen. He’d lost more precious time at the door, thinking about a past he had tried hard to bury.

  And because of it the man had gotten away.

  Nicholas had been only too right. The news of the wine discovery had gotten out, possibly from someone who’d been watching him when he’d fallen by the bridge and gone through his pockets to find Nicholas’s letter explaining the discovery of the wine and the terms of the will. Now Cathlin would be in danger every second of every day.

  And it would be his job to keep her safe, whether she liked it or not.

  HE WALKED IN, TIRED, disappointed, and very angry. If he thought he was going to be thanked for his interference, he soon realized he was wrong.

  “You lied to me.” Cathlin’s hands were stiff at her sides and her face was white. “You lied to me all along. You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the men from my father’s world.”

  “Cathlin, listen.”

  “No, I don’t want to listen! I saw how you went after him, your whole body a weapon, your mind cold and hard as a computer. You have all the same moves that Donnell had. All along, you sat there and listened, nodding. Lying. How much more is lies, Dominic? How much?”

  “None. I meant to tell you, Cathlin. Then you mentioned about your father and I decided you weren’t ready to hear the truth.”

  “Ready? Who are you to make that kind of decision?”

  “It was necessary, Cathlin.”

  “You bet it was. You had to lie to me, to manipulate and steer me just where you wanted.” Her fingers locked. It had all been a lie, the story of his mother and his playboy life. Yet he’d made it all seem so believable, shredding her careful defenses. “When were you going to tell me, Dominic? Or maybe I should say Officer Montserrat.”

  “Officer will be fine,” Dominic said grimly. “Because from now on I’ll be giving the orders. We each stand to gain at least half a million pounds when the terms of that legacy are fulfilled, Cathlin. I was carrying a letter of explanation from Nicholas Draycott and I’m afraid it’s been stolen. That means that the news of the will has gotten out, and the danger is now very real.”

  She laughed tightly. “Because of one case of old wine?”

  “How many men do you know who would kill for a 1792 Château d’Yquem?”

  Cathlin did a rough estimate and felt a sickening jolt in her stomach. Wine collectors were a fanatic lot. It was part of the reason Cathlin liked them. Yes, she could think of quite a few who would go to any lengths to possess such a treasure. “So I might be in danger. Do you want me to apologize? Very well, I’m sorry, Officer Montserrat. I only fell for part of your lies, not the whole lot.”

  “Cathlin, listen. I made a decision. It might have been the wrong one, but I never meant it to hurt you.”

  “Tell that to my father.” She spun around, tears glinting on her cheeks. “No and no and no! I hated that world then and I hate it now. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  Dominic looked at her hands, locked on her soft floral blouse. At her eyes, blazing and gold and haunted.

  “I don’t need you here and I don’t need that wine, not if it involves going back to Draycott. So just stay out of my way and let me do my work.”

  “I can’t,” Dominic growled, his eyes on the satin skin exposed at the neck of her flowing blouse. “You see, you are my work right now. Where you go, I go. What you do, I do. And no matter what I tell you, you do it, since it could be the one thing that saves our lives until this business is finished. By God, I’m going to keep you safe, whether you like it or not.”

  “What gives you the right to—”

  He cut her off harshly, pulling his gaze from the creamy skin that left a hot pulse pounding at his groin. “That letter from Nicholas Draycott gave me the right. Either you go with me and do things my way or you don’t go at all. And then we’re both out half a million pounds.” He shoved to his feet, muscles tense. “So what’s your answer?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “None at all,” came the flat answer.

  “I don’t like you, Officer Montserrat. I’m inclined to say that I hate you right at this moment. Which doesn’t make much of a basis for a week’s stay anywhere in close quarters.” In her anger, Cathlin sat forward, shoulders stiff. Her blouse moved, revealing a satin curve of skin and the shadow of one perfect, dusky nipple.

  A muscle flashed at Dominic’s jaw. “I’ll survive, O’Neill. But maybe you’d better remember that I’ve got perfect eyesight.”

  Cathlin looked down, saw the gaping fabric, and sat back abruptly, hot color in her cheeks.

  “Don’t let it worry you,” Dominic said coldly. “I’ve guarded more women than I can count, and none of them ha
s ever gotten through to me. The sex can be great when you’re in that kind of life, don’t get me wrong. The danger and adrenaline push everything to the edge and make even a kiss explosive. But when I’m in bed with a woman I want to know it’s not just adrenaline that’s making the high between us. So you can relax, O’Neill. You might as well be dressed in a habit and a crucifix, because from now on it’s business, just cold-blooded business between us.”

  “Oh? And what’s the good news?”

  “That is the good news.”

  Again the swift flare of color, this time sweeping down to Cathlin’s chest. “I’m delighted to hear it, Officer Montserrat. Now maybe you’ll get the bloody hell out of my kitchen.”

  “One more thing. You’re not going to see Severance. Not alone, anyway. Not after what just happened.”

  “Any other orders?”

  “If there are, I’ll tell you, O’Neill. And you’ll obey them.” His voice was cold. One hundred percent professional. “Because that’s the only way we’re going to get out of this whole bloody mess.”

  Cathlin watched him stride from the room. “Like hell I will.”

  DOWN THE HILL, HIDDEN beyond the ragged line of trees at the edge of the marsh, a man eased back into the shadows. Carefully he flipped out a transmitter. Then he began to speak softly.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DOMINIC SAT DOWN ON THE old rosewood desk and frowned at the sunny study filled with pictures. Pictures of Donnell O’Neill, looking happy but as if he were thinking of something else. Pictures of a beautiful woman with golden eyes. Cathlin’s mother, no doubt.

  And then there were the pictures of Cathlin, riding her first pony, climbing her first tree, going to her first tea dance in high-heeled satin pumps.

  Something twisted in his gut.

  Muttering darkly, he picked up the phone and jabbed out a number. “Nicholas?”

  “Right here. Any luck with Cathlin?”

  “I’m working on it. Things have been a little chaotic here, I’m afraid.”

  “The same on this end,” his friend said grimly. “We’ve had a call from my solicitor in London. Someone has been asking about the reports we had to file locally after the discovery of Gabriel’s remains. We’ve asked the people here to keep it quiet as best they can, but I’m afraid someone’s gotten wind of the story. It was only a matter of time, I guess.”