She needed solid evidence to take to Niall, or at least something more tangible than a few rearranged drawers and closets.
Despite the fact she’d only been sleeping with the man for three nights now—if she didn’t count the night he’d made wonderful, playful love to her and then turned into a caveman the next morning—Birch felt she was getting to know Niall quite well. And not just how his amazing body worked, either, but his actual mind. He was probably the most innately protective, old-fashioned, noble guy she’d ever met. He was also quite understanding for not writing her off as crazy for admitting she talked to trees and had apparently become the new Bottomless Bird Lady.
So she was pretty sure if she mentioned what she suspected about Francine but asked him not to do anything until they were certain, Niall would likely turn into Chief Caveman right before her eyes again.
Birch dropped her feet to the floor when she heard her mother moving around upstairs, and realized there would be no more sneaking off at night in the foreseeable future, since she couldn’t very well leave Hazel alone in the house with two possible criminals now that Noreen and Macie and Cassandra were gone.
Macie had moved back to the colony yesterday to be with Johnny, since the only reason she’d left was because of Sebastian, who was . . . no longer a problem. And having befriended a kind, middle-aged nurse—who just happened to be an amateur artist—at the hospital, Cassandra was spending the next few days with Nurse Beverly and her husband to see if they might be a good fit. All thanks to a really sharp social worker who happened to be sitting in the hospital cafeteria doing paperwork and had overheard Cassandra telling Macie she would gladly move into a foster home if the couple were upbeat and encouraging like Beverly.
Seriously; what were the chances? Some might call it serendipity or perfect timing or all the planets moving into alignment, but Birch was putting it up there in the good old miracle category, since Beverly and John Hallstead had done the paperwork nearly a month ago to be foster parents and were actively looking for a downtrodden and discouraged girl like Cassandra.
Birch was still breathless from how fast the social worker had made it happen—which is why she now had the engaging and obviously bold woman on speed dial. And although she was over-the-moon happy to see Noreen and Macie and Cassandra getting on with their lives, she was finding the house felt eerily . . . silent.
“Birch? Are you here?” Hazel called from the kitchen.
“I’m in my office, Mom.”
Birch heard the screen door open and Mimi’s claws tapping on the porch, her mother appearing in her office doorway shortly after.
“They’re gone,” Hazel said, sounding as perplexed as she looked. “They must have left sometime in the night. Their beds were never slept in.”
“Well, shit,” Birch growled, not having to ask who was gone as she rushed out of the office and ran up the stairs, her mother following at a slower but just as urgent pace. Birch went into Francine and Emily’s room, stopped between the two beds, and looked around for . . . merde, she didn’t know what she was looking for. She went to the bureau and started opening drawers just as her mom came in.
“Everything’s still here,” Hazel said as she opened the closet. She frowned, and took down the purse hanging on the inside of the door. “Francine even left the purse Rana gave her. I don’t recognize the designer, but it’s definitely expensive.”
“They searched my bedroom last night,” Birch admitted.
Hazel arched a delicate brow. “While you were in it?”
“No, Mom. You know damn well I’ve been sneaking over to Niall’s the last three nights.” She dropped her head. “I’m sorry. I never should have left you alone in the house with them.”
“Oh, bébé,” Hazel said, tossing the purse on one of the beds, then walking over and pulling Birch into a hug. “I didn’t survive four years in hell to be taken out by a scrap of a woman and a thirteen-year-old child. You’re not the only one who owns bear spray.” She leaned away slightly and smiled. “And I wasn’t alone. Mimi might be infatuated with Emily, but she would have given them the business if they bothered me.”
“Mimi didn’t hear anything?”
Hazel stepped away and shook her head. “If she did, she never woke me. But then, she’s likely getting used to people coming and going all hours of the day and night around here,” she said dryly. She turned serious as she glanced around the room. “Do you suppose they finally found what they were searching for?” She turned to Birch, her expression hopeful. “If Claude is correct in assuming we were still in possession of something that belonged to Leo—to Jacques Rabideu, and Francine found it, that would mean this whole ordeal is over. There’s no more reason for anyone to want you out of the way, and Sam can stop playing the bodyguard under the pretense of being romantically interested in me.”
“What?” Birch said on an indrawn breath. “You think Sam’s been escorting you around to protect you?” She’d told her mom everything Claude and Niall had told her about Jacques Rabideu, but neither man had mentioned Sam’s role in this whole stupid mess.
“Really, Birch,” Hazel said, rolling her eyes as she walked out of the room and started down the hall. “Even I know a confirmed bachelor doesn’t suddenly become interested in a woman who swaps husbands as often as most people swap vehicles.” She stopped at the top of the stairs and shot Birch a smile. “Make that two confirmed bachelors, since Claude’s sudden interest is even more suspect.”
“But how come I didn’t realize what they were doing?”
“Probably because you’ve been rather occupied getting laid,” Hazel drawled, her muttered “and it’s about damn time” trailing behind her as she walked down the stairs with all the poise of a Shakespearean actress exiting the stage.
• • •
Niall sat at his desk with his fingers laced together behind his head as he rocked back in his chair and grinned like the village idiot, feeling quite pleased with how his courtship was coming along—even though Miss Callahan likely wasn’t even aware she was being courted. Hell, for all he knew the lass thought she was courting him—only as a longtime lover, not a husband. But he really didn’t see Birch changing her views on marriage anytime soon, considering the less than stellar examples she’d had since . . . well, since birth, apparently.
But unlike his modern clansmen, several of whom had given their women only days to get used to the notion of becoming wives, Niall was glad he was a patient man. That he happened to be living in the twenty-first century certainly helped, seeing how it was no longer frowned upon—much less considered a crime—for a man and woman to live together outside of marriage. But even though he would openly live with Birch if that was the only way he could have her, Niall knew he still had the mind-set of a twelfth-century highlander, which made him guilty of wanting her complete surrender.
Hearing stilted footsteps accompanied by prancing claws on the station stairs, Niall sat forward with a snort, thinking that besides requiring patience waiting for Birch to embrace a vow-and-ring commitment, he was also going to need nerves of steel.
“Don’t you ever feed your dog, MacKeage?” Sam asked as he walked in carrying a box sporting the Drunken Moose logo. Niall sighed when he heard a loud grumbling as Sam quickly closed the door, leaving Shep on the wrong side of it. “You do know we sell dog food at the store, don’t you?”
“Despite how fast he goes through fifty-pound bags, he’s still the cheapest officer on my payroll,” Niall said with a chuckle, only to sober when he noticed the large envelope tucked under Sam’s arm. “You’ve heard back from your contact.”
“In spades,” the man said, setting the box on the desk and opening the cover to reveal what had once been half a dozen warm cinnamon buns but were now only four—one of which was likely in Sam’s belly and the other in the belly of the greedy beggar still grumbling out on the porch. “You eat, I’ll talk,” Sam
continued as he pulled a chair up to the desk and sat down. He dropped the reading glasses perched on his head to his nose, took the envelope from under his arm, and pulled out a handful of papers.
“Edward Leopold,” he began reading, making Niall stop reaching for a bun and lean back in his chair, “is the recently ordained patriarch of the Leopold dynasty, which at last count consisted of one hundred seventy-three adults and fifty-eight children spanning four generations. The respectable side of the family business is overland shipping, both truck and railroad, as well as controlling interests in a couple of hydropower companies and a corporate-sized cattle ranch in Saskatchewan.”
“Ye got all that from a ring?” Niall asked when Sam looked up.
Sam grinned and shuffled through the papers, then set one of them on the desk facing Niall—a photo of the ring accompanied by a description. “Seems Birch does know a thing or two about jewelry,” Sam continued, “because what she told you was pretty much spot on. The ring in the photo is definitely old and eastern European, and that’s definitely the family crest. But the man in Canada to whom I sent pictures of the ring you gave me said ours is a high-quality, exclusive reproduction of the original ring Ivan Leopold was wearing when he stepped off a boat in Nova Scotia ninety-three years ago. There are two versions of it still being reproduced today in very limited quantities; one sized for a male and the other for a female. Every Leopold gets his or her ring after completing a rite of passage and, according to my contact, it’s always worn on the . . . ah, right middle finger.” Sam grinned again. “So I guess what Birch saw the day of her accident holds with tradition.”
“And the non-respectable side of their family business?” Niall asked, undecided which amazed him more: that Sam had gotten all this information from a ring or that he’d gotten it in two days.
Hell, he felt his debt to Telos growing with every word Sam spoke.
“Another Leopold tradition that apparently crossed the Atlantic with Ivan,” Sam went on, “is adding to the family wealth by swindling unsuspecting chumps out of their wealth. That rite of passage I mentioned? It’s when a family member succeeds in pulling off his or her first million-dollar scam.”
Niall felt his jaw slacken. “What sort of scams bring in a million dollars?”
Sam shuffled papers again, stopped at one, then shrugged. “Fake businesses and charities mostly, marriages like Hazel had with Rabideu—except it seems to be the younger Leopold women targeting rich, lonely old men—and one notable investment scheme that damn near wiped out a large oil company’s retirement fund.”
“And the entire family has managed to stay in the business of cheating people out of their money for ninety-three years without being caught?” Niall asked.
“For the most part,” Sam said with a nod. “But then, there are several Leopolds in Canada’s federal government; some elected officials and some department heads appointed by those officials. And if the news media starts connecting the Leopold name to corruption or bad business practices, an older member will take the fall and even do time in jail—handsomely compensated, of course—for the good of the family.” Sam snorted. “Apparently you Scots don’t have a monopoly on the definition of clan.”
Niall leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. “Is there some way we can find out if any of them crossed the border into Maine recently?”
“Well, now,” Sam said as he shuffled papers again, going stone sober when he pulled out a page. “Beginning three days before Birch’s encounter with the white car, Leopold men, women, and teenagers started entering the United States. Over the span of a week they crossed the border in Houlton and Jackman, Maine, a couple of cars came through upstate New York, and two parties rode the ferry to Portland from Nova Scotia. And those are just the ones carrying Leopold passports.” He shrugged. “I’d need more time to research the married names of the women.”
“Sweet Christ,” Niall whispered, slumping back in his chair. “You’re talking about a small army.”
Sam nodded. “It appears to be a deliberate and well-thought-out operation, and I’d bet my half of the store that not only is Spellbound Falls their destination, but that everyone is already here.”
“What about the vehicles they crossed in? Can we get that information?”
Sam shook his head. “These people haven’t survived for nearly a century by being stupid. They would have quickly rented cars and trucks with U.S. plates.”
“What in hell could Rabideu have had of theirs to warrant such an invasion?”
“Something damaging enough to the family to get the idiot tortured and killed. My contact said there are rumors Edward Leopold is planning to run for parliament next election, with his sights set on eventually being prime minister of Canada. It’s possible Rabideu was holding information that could kill Edward’s chances of even being elected town dogcatcher.”
Niall stood up and walked to the window, then stared out at Bottomless in silence for several minutes before turning back to Sam. “How in hell am I supposed to fight an enemy I wouldn’t even recognize if he passed me on the sidewalk? Short of locking them up with a twenty-four-hour armed guard,” he growled, gesturing at the holding cell, “there’s no way I can protect Birch and Hazel from a determined army of Leopolds.”
“That’s not as farfetched as it sounds,” Sam said, relaxing back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest with a grin. “Only instead of your holding cell, why not book them a stay at the securest place on the planet?”
“Nova Mare?” Niall said in surprise. But then he also grinned. “Works for me.”
“Well, except for two possible problems; the first being that I can’t see you ever getting Birch to leave her residents or Hazel ever agreeing to leave Birch.”
“That one’s easy,” Niall countered. “They’re both so protective of each other, I just have to persuade Birch she needs to go for her mother’s sake, and then tell Hazel it’s the only way to keep her daughter safe. What’s the second problem?”
“Time,” Sam said. “As in how long you might have to keep them tucked away in their gilded cage. If whatever Rabideu had is powerful enough to bring this many Leopolds across the border, they’re not about to give up until they get hold of it, even if that takes months.”
Niall scrubbed his face, so damn frustrated he wanted to roar. He suddenly dropped his hands to look at Sam. “Then we find whatever they’re after. It’s agreed Rabideu must have hidden something in Hazel’s house, so all we have to do is find the accursed thing and turn it over to the Canadian authorities.”
“Whatever it is moved with Hazel and Birch, because the Leopolds wouldn’t be bothering with them now unless their house—which is sitting empty with a For Sale sign out front—was searched with a fine-toothed comb.”
“Then we have Birch and Hazel look through everything they moved here.”
Sam took a moment to think about that, then shook his head. “They obviously didn’t bring their entire household, so there’s a good chance a lot of their belongings are sitting in a storage facility in Montreal.”
Niall slid his hands in his pockets and turned to stare out at Bottomless again.
“Up until a year ago when his father handed over the reins,” Sam went on softly, “Edward Leopold was the family’s . . . enforcer. But old habits die hard, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he personally cut out Rabideu’s heart and stuffed it down the idiot’s throat. And even though my contact sent me a picture of Edward, it’s likely useless to us. Men planning to run for public office won’t risk getting caught in another country committing a crime, so Edward would have sent his hand-chosen successor to deal with the problem. But my contact couldn’t find out who took over that notable position. And Niall?”
Niall turned to look at him.
“You’re not without a small army of your own; it so happens you know a warrior with centuries of fighting
experience, several modern highlanders who don’t particularly care to be on a losing side in a fight, a couple of wizards with a bunch of magical tricks up their sleeves, and two—no, three—highly effective government weapons who used to specialize in toppling small dynasties. And don’t forget Birch’s father; an ex-cop determined to keep his daughter safe is nothing to sneeze at, either.”
Niall shook his head. “I went to Titus yesterday and asked for his help finding out what was going on, but he explained it’s not his place to interfere. He also asked me to understand that having to merely watch mankind’s struggles is a lot harder on him than it is on the ones who are struggling.”
“Then ask Mac for help.”
“I did,” Niall said quietly, “and received the same answer. Like it was for Titus, Mac’s duty is to protect man’s right to deal with each other without divine interference.” He shrugged. “I have no doubt he’d open Nova Mare to Birch and Hazel, but the Leopold invasion is my responsibility.”
“Duncan has magical powers.”
Niall gave a small grin. “He has a limited command of nature, but even that’s useless against an enemy we can’t recognize.”
“And Nicholas?” Sam growled.
Niall nodded. “He will certainly lend us his sword-arm, once we have something tangible to fight.”
Sam propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. “What in hell good is all this hocus-pocus shit,” he muttered to the floor, “if it’s only used to move around mountains that were perfectly fine right where they were?”
Niall walked over to his desk, grabbed a cinnamon bun out of the box, and sat down. “I’m willing to bet my own sword-arm that not all of our resident magic-makers are going to stand back and merely watch—especially not if he’s taken a shine to my Miss Callahan.”
Sam straightened. “The new god.” His eyes narrowed. “Olivia told Dad some oak tree told you his name is Telos. You think he’ll help?”
The Highlander Next Door Page 28
