Hidden Obsession

by Joanne Rock

  “Kendrick does not have you anymore.”

  Graham pulled Linnet onto his lap, displacing more of her skirts until half her thighs were exposed to the muted daylight and gentle breeze. “I think I should have you instead.”

  Linnet lifted her gaze to meet his and found his expression fierce. Possessive. Just now she could only care that he was a man.

  And she, for her part, remained one aching woman who had been too long deprived.

  Graham might leave her tomorrow, or he could simply vanish from her life as startlingly as he had entered it. She’d be a folly-fallen fool to allow this moment with him to pass through her fingers.

  Linnet had only one condition and she whispered it in his ear.

  “Show me everything….”

  Dear Reader,

  I can’t say how thrilled I am to present my first-ever time travel story that combines two of my favorite genres—a sexy Harlequin Blaze story and a medieval historical. Those of you who’ve checked out my Harlequin Historical books know how much I love the Middle Ages, so it was a real treat to bring that lush setting into the pages of a red-hot Blaze read. And since one of my ongoing themes as a historical writer is a personal conviction that women were strong and resourceful in any era, it has been really gratifying to pair up my contemporary hero with a medieval maiden who proves a more than worthy partner.

  But of course, in fiction, half the fun is getting there. I’ll let you see how Graham and Linnet match hearts and wits in Hidden Obsession, and I hope you’ll join me in watching the PERFECT TIMING miniseries develop next month with another exciting story, Highland Fling by Jennifer LaBrecque.

  Happy reading,

  Joanne Rock

  HIDDEN OBSESSION

  Joanne Rock

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joanne Rock traces her passion for all things medieval from the Arthurian tradition to John Keats’s “The Eve of St. Agnes” and Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale. She knew she wanted to try her hand at a medieval story after Elizabeth Lowell’s Forbidden kept her enthralled through a seven-hour layover in Newark, figuring any tale that could make an extended airport stint fun was nothing short of brilliant. Today, Joanne indulges her love of sexy contemporary romance as well as her medieval appreciation in her stories for Harlequin Blaze, Signature Select and Harlequin Historical. A writer who adores new challenges, Joanne leaped at the chance to try something new in a time travel book. Visit Joanne at www.JoanneRock.com to enter monthly contests and learn more about her work.

  Books by Joanne Rock

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  104—SEX & THE SINGLE GIRL*

  108—GIRL’S GUIDE TO HUNTING & KISSING*

  135—GIRL GONE WILD*

  139—DATE WITH A DIVA*

  171—SILK CONFESSIONS†

  182—HIS WICKED WAYS†

  240—UP ALL NIGHT

  HARLEQUIN SIGNATURE SELECT COLLECTION

  LOVE SO TENDER

  “Good Luck Charm”

  HARLEQUIN SIGNATURE SELECT SPOTLIGHT

  THE PLEASURE TRIP

  HARLEQUIN HISTORICAL

  694—THE WEDDING KNIGHT

  720—THE KNIGHT’S REDEMPTION

  749—THE BETROTHAL

  “Highland Handfast”

  758—MY LADY’S FAVOR

  769—THE LAIRD’S LADY

  For Winnie Griggs, Tanya Michaels, Anna DeStefano, Dianna Love Snell and Annie Oortman, thank you for giving me a break from this book to visit with you at Moonlight & Magnolias so I could come home recharged and excited to finish Graham and Linnet’s story. Tanya and Anna, what would I do without the bonus margaritas you send my way? Winnie, thanks for reading for me and cheering on my Muse from Day One. And for Dianna and Annie, thank you for always having time to talk books with me! You all make this work so much fun.

  And for the talented sister of my heart, Catherine Mann, who knows what I’m trying to accomplish even when I can’t remember. Thank you for sharing your brilliant insights with me and inspiring me to be the best I can be. I adore you, dear friend!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  1

  IF THERE HAD BEEN EVEN a hint of cosmic order in the universe, Graham Lawson wouldn’t have had to show up on a Hollywood set for the rest of his life.

  Wrenching his practice sword out of A-list actor Brendan Jameson’s hands before the guy could spend another moment checking out his teeth in the polished reflection, Los Angeles Police Department weapons expert Graham stuffed the blade in its sheath before folding the antique piece in a length of cloth for transport back to his private collection. He couldn’t afford another day away from his current investigation with a new brand of flesh-peddling gangbangers running around L.A. and keeping his department hopping. Especially since this latest crew of felons had demonstrated a preference for medieval weaponry to inflict twisted sex pain on their victims. They showed a hell of a lot more facility with their arms than pretty-boy Brendan at Graham’s sideline as a weapons consultant for an action-adventure flick.

  “See you tomorrow, coach?” Brendan asked, sipping his Evian between bouts of the makeup artist’s brush while he prepped for his close-ups in studio 3A.

  “I don’t know. I think the director said something about shooting the remaining scenes with a copied sword.” Graham zipped the leather satchel he’d used for transporting an assortment of weapons to and from the set for the past two months. The gig had started out as a favor to his ex-girlfriend, a bit-part actress in the film they were shooting and a woman who’d barely waited for Graham to finish his first sword-wielding lesson with the starring actor before she’d thrown herself at Brendan. Currently she stood by the refreshment table, leaning over to push her boobs up for more cleavage.

  Nice. The kicker of it all was that Graham had made a three-thousand-mile relocation from the NYPD to the LAPD in order to be with the woman he’d met while providing extra security to a Manhattan set where she’d had a role in a music video. Good thing he liked the weather out here or he might just have been pissed off at her.

  “But what about the choreography of the fight sequences?” Brendan held up a hand to pause the makeup artist in mid sweep of her brush full of bronzer.

  Graham couldn’t resent the guy—too much—since Brendan was clueless about Graham’s ex-girlfriend’s maneuvering.

  “You’re looking more at ease every day,” Graham fibbed for the greater good. But then, Graham would never be able to think about dividing up action sequences into smaller vignettes to best show off his abs, either. In a world that emphasized how something looked over actual accomplishment though, maybe Brendan had an advantage.

  Welcome to Hollywood.

  “Killer.” Brendan flashed a thumbs-up sign, tipping off both Graham and his makeup artist that the conversation was over.

  Graham’s phone started ringing the moment he finished packing his gear. He answered as he wound his way through the cavernous soundstage toward the studio back lot, his vintage sword secured across his back in a custom-made carrying case.

  “Lawson.” Blinking against the bright afternoon sun that seemed to shine non-stop to the eyes of an east-coast transplant, Graham bummed a ride to the parking lot off a gopher speeding by in a golf cart.

  Another thing he couldn’t get used to about this city, you had to drive everywher
e.

  “It’s Miguel. You done playing Gene Kelly yet?”

  Graham’s twenty-five-year-old partner had laughed his ass off at the idea of Brendan Jameson cutting Graham’s action sequence into choreography snippets so he could remember them better.

  “I’m getting in the truck now.” Graham floated the golf-cart-driving kid a few bucks for his trouble and loaded the satchel into the front seat of his Sierra Denali pickup—a kick-ass ride he refused to trade even though it guzzled fuel like there was no tomorrow.

  Besides, the truck had proved more loyal than most of the women in his life and that ought to count for something.

  “You in the mood to maintain your highbrow commitment to the arts?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There’s some kind of art exhibit in town called Sex Through the Ages, and our guys found a flyer for the thing in a search of a Guardian member’s glove compartment this morning.”

  The gang calling themselves the Guardians had upped the stakes two weeks ago when they had begun kidnapping area women for participation in twisted, occasionally brutal, sex rituals as a form of hazing for their new members. Leads were scarce other than a few instances of weaponry with medieval flare. Maces. Scythes. Or so went the rumors. No old-school weapons had been confiscated, but in a couple of police reports, witnesses claimed to have seen the tools. Then two women who’d escaped the Guardians had come home with scythes tattooed on their thighs and tales of lurid and sometimes sadistic sex rites carried out with cultist attention to detail.

  Cops all over the city had moved the case up to their first priority.

  “Sex Through the Ages?” Graham pulled out of the studio lot and headed north toward the interstate. “Sounds like a docudrama on pornography. How is that an art exhibit?”

  “Beats me. The brochure shows some naked paintings and a kinky costume display, but I figured you’d want to take a look at the medieval section since our guys seem to dig the Crusader tie-in.”

  “Right. Where is this place?” Graham didn’t mind the fieldwork since—aside from his crappy sideline as a weapons consultant on the movie—he spent most of his time behind a desk these days. His expertise had propelled him through the police ranks with gratifying speed, but there came a point where he missed the time in the field that made the job real. Intense.

  “The show is at the Getty Center. There’s an exit for it off the 405.” Miguel started rattling off directions but Graham could picture the place. “It closes at six, though. You’d better step on it.”

  “Crap. That was the most important part of this conversation, bud. You’re supposed to lead with the big news and work your way down through the rest.” Graham leaned on the accelerator and hit the passing lane more aggressively since his dashboard clock read 5:40.

  “Then you’re really not going to like this.” Miguel cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Eyewitness reports from the UCLA campus say the Guardians took two other women from a summer workshop in parapsychology this morning. One of the witnesses got a good look at a weapon they were carrying and I’m going to send it over to you now. It sounded like a scythe when she first described it, but the artist’s picture shows something more unusual.”

  “I’m on it.” Graham processed the information as he flew down the highway, the smoggy breeze whipping through the open window of his truck not doing jack to clear his head.

  He didn’t know where a bunch of twenty-year-old street thugs were finding the kinds of weapons that few collectors could get their hands on, but obviously the Guardian organization was a hell of a lot more sophisticated than he’d first realized.

  Which made them a whole lot more dangerous. And even harder to catch. Graham was pretty damn certain this group wasn’t visiting museums in their spare time for inspiration on their sick rituals, but maybe these guys were pulling research from some B-movie version of battles in the Middle Ages and the helpless role of the village wenches. He’d have to remember to speak to the department’s psych guys about the tight brotherhood mentality of the gang. They might be able to profile their ringleaders a little more narrowly if the Guardians were really grooving on the pseudo-historical roots of their crime ring.

  Eighteen minutes later, Graham jogged into the J. Paul Getty Museum with the valuable historic sword strapped on his back in its protective case. He hadn’t planned to make a stop on the way home and he couldn’t afford to leave a ten-thousand-dollar weapon unguarded. Now he flashed his badge enough times to warrant the appearance of a management type who understood the need for speed and discretion. After giving the okay to keep the museum open later on a private basis just for the evening, the museum’s assistant director called out a night watchman to show Graham around the Sex Through the Ages exhibit.

  Progress.

  The old guy was quiet, which suited Graham fine as he scanned room after room in search of anything that might clue him in to Guardian rituals or shed light on the meaning of the scythe. The drawing Miguel had e-mailed him had been an oddly shaped halberd with a curved hilt. Similar to a poleax, a halberd could be used as both a dagger and an ax, but the slight arc in the haft was a twist Graham had never come across before. He’d also never seen the style of engraving on the handle, which looked too distinct to mark the piece as an antique, although that might be an exaggeration by the artist to capture details the eyewitness had described.

  Knowing the Sex Through the Ages exhibit was probably not the place to find clues about the weapon anyhow, Graham tucked away the PDA with the picture and concentrated on the task at hand. For all he knew, the traveling museum show had been just a matter of curiosity to the suspect who’d had a flyer about it. Graham needed to be open to other leads that didn’t have anything to do with weaponry.

  One of the echoing museum halls displayed a history of dildos. Another showcased the development of undergarments meant to tantalize. There was a sprawling section dedicated to porn, but those specialty exhibits were sandwiched between bigger rooms dedicated to various time periods.

  Boot soles squeaking on the polished museum floor, Graham made tracks for the Middle Ages area that had been draped with crushed red velvet curtains tied back with golden cord.

  Music had been piped in that Graham could only assume was period accurate. The sound of monks chanting a cappella provided an interesting accompaniment to racy displays ranging from provocative paintings to drawings of sexual enhancement aids and a PowerPoint projection on a blank wall depicting various methods of medieval birth control, all of which looked fairly revolting.

  Why would any of this be interesting to the Guardians? Was there a clue to their sex rites contained in the ten-minute narrated slide show about the subversive sexuality of witch hunts? Would their group care that medieval society blatantly encouraged sex outside marriage in the subtly written code of chivalry?

  “Damn.” Graham muttered under his breath, resenting the lost time here if the museum lead turned out to be a dead end.

  “Perhaps you would like to see the collection of paintings, sir?” the night watchman asked from a few feet behind. “Some were painted within the time period and others were crafted afterward yet still reflect the medieval sentiment.”

  Nodding, Graham shifted the position of the sword sheath on his back and followed the guy past a glass display case of supposed chastity belts along with a disclaimer about the authenticity of the items, which many believed a myth. As they reached the wall of paintings, Graham realized the collection resembled nothing he’d ever seen at an art gallery.

  Not that he spent much time in museums, but he seemed to recall the general rule of hanging visual art was to give each piece enough white space to appreciate the works individually. Here, the canvases had been hung close together with disparate themes clashing up against one another. The rougher, two-dimensional style of period pieces butted up against soft-focus Victorian interpretations of the Middle Ages.

  Graham could scarcely take it all in, oth
er than an overall impression of numerous curvy maidens falling out of their clothes. Knights and peasants, kings and nobles filled out the periphery of the presentation, their swords brandishing at every angle like a field of strutting lovers flexing their he-man prowess in an age-old mating call.

  “Do you have any questions I can help you with, sir?” the old night watchman asked in his gravelly voice, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Not yet.” Graham didn’t know what he was looking for here, but somehow this section of paintings gave him the sense that he’d come closer. Shifting his gaze downward from the sweep of images across the wall, he spotted a weapon similar to the photo Miguel had sent.

  A halberd with a slightly curved haft, although the piece bore none of the peculiar chain-link-style markings witnesses claimed to have seen on the Guardians’ weapon on the UCLA campus.

  Moving closer to inspect the canvas, he squinted into the dark shadows of the artwork but couldn’t make out any more detail. The blade rested at ease against a hay bale while a knight on the other side of the image removed his helm to rest at the side of a country road.

  “I don’t get it.” Graham stood back from the painting again to see if he’d missed something. “How does this picture show anything about sex? Why include something as innocuous as a knight catching a few Zs as part of the exhibit?”

  The answers were probably here somewhere on one of the zillion little placards for patrons who wanted a self-guided tour of the show, but Graham didn’t have a lot of time for research with two more women now in the Guardians’ hands.

  The watchman stepped closer, blue eyes keen, as if he’d been eager for an opportunity to share what he knew. The guy probably didn’t get the chance to talk to many people if his shift started at six and the museum closed early three nights a week.